Strange Alliances
by Erestor
Summary: A battle to save the history of MiddleEarth results in the formation of several strange alliances: fangirls aid Morgoth, Sauron aids the Valar [or does he?], and certain Elves and humans must choose to serve the winning side. But which side would that be?
1. PART ONE: In the Beginning

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Silmarillion_. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, and not for money.

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**CHAPTER ONE**

_'He summoned the Valar to the Ring of Doom, and thither came even Ulmo from the Outer Sea.' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

It was an ordinary day in Valinor.

Mandos was arguing with Celegorm's fëa, which had not mellowed much since the Elf's death. It was an argument that might have threatened to become violent, had either of them possessed bodies with which to actually be violent. Mandos said that the fëar had no rights, and no right to ask for rights, and Celegorm insisted that times were changing and that the fëar deserved to be allowed to do things (like get out of the Halls of Mandos early, for good behavior).

Nienna ignored her brother and his little righteous war with practiced skill. She was trying to soothe the various traumatized fëar who had tried to argue with Mandos in the past. Lórien was providing no help whatsoever, because he was napping in Lórien, dreaming peaceful dreams. She would give him nightmares some day, Nienna told herself, if he continued to laze about when others were working.

This was Life As Usual.

Unfortunately, Life As Usual was doomed to take a drastic turn for the worse. Mandos, Nienna, and Lórien had no plans to visit the strange world known to its inhabitants only as 'Earth', but in Valinor, one had to constantly expect the unexpected (in which case, it ceased to be unexpected and _nearly_ became normal). When a few Maiar showed up announcing that the Valar were all summoned to Mahanaxar for a very important meeting, the three began steeling themselves for the unexpected, already worried.

The two Fëanturi in particular did not like going to Mahanaxar, because it meant that they had to clothe themselves in mortal bodies. It made them uncomfortable to experience all the limitations of a hröa, and they did not much care for the sunlight. As for Nienna, she preferred to drift around weeping _figuratively_, as opposed to walking around weeping _literally_, as she had to do when she was in a hröa, but she was stoic (as always) about this.

The Valar wended their way to Mahanaxar, and sat down, looking at each other and wondering why they had been called to another council. What could possibly have gone wrong this time?

Things had been deteriorating in Valinor. Of the Valar, Oromë said that there was nothing interesting left to hunt and that taxidermy might be an interesting hobby; Ulmo was spending his time teaching dolphins how to balance balls on their noses; Aulë was threatening to invent something that would forever ruin the tranquility of the Undying Lands (telephones, perhaps); Irmo was rarely seen, as he spent most of the time snoozing in his gardens; Námo had started a debating club in his halls, and was systematically trouncing any fëa who dared to challenge him (though the contenders were few); Tulkas had discovered a book creatively (and somewhat arrogantly) titled _The World's Best Knock-Knock Jokes _and was proceeding to drive everyone insane with it.

The Valier were nearly as bad. Varda, for example, had recently realized how fun it was to cause supernovae. She had started blowing her stars to pieces for some sort of cheap thrill. This was very worrying.

Since they were all sitting in Mahanaxar and nothing was happening, Tulkas decided to break the lengthy silence by telling a joke (not a knock-knock joke, thankfully). Only three of the Valar understood it (but then, they were the only three listening to him), and only Nessa, devoted spouse that she was, actually laughed. The other two Valar rolled their eyes longsufferingly.

Manwë spoke at last. "I know that you are all finding life very dull without Morgoth trying to overthrow us" (he did not like to speak of Melkor, and now he had taken to using the Elven version of his brother's name) "and without certain Elves creating uprisings." There were nods from those assembled. "However, something has finally happened."

Eyes widened. Valar murmured excitedly. This was the best news they had heard in Ages.

"Middle-Earth is in trouble," began Manwë, to get their attention. He had it at once.

"Middle-Earth is always in trouble," said Tulkas, and a few of the Valar sniggered. Insubordinate wretches.

"Middle-Earth is in trouble _again_," Manwë said calmly. "In fact, unless we do something about it, its history is going to keep on repeating itself."

"It has entered into a time-loop of some kind?" asked Aulë, stroking his highly distracting beard. He was the clever Vala, and he tried not to let any of them forget it.

Manwë nodded. "The Third Age has repeated itself hundreds of times, each time with different variations. Some have been great, others have been small. However, in each variation, once Prince Legolas sets sail for Valinor, the Third Age loops back and begins again."

"So that is why Legolas has not showed up yet," thought Mandos to himself. He had been wondering. It also explained why several fëar had entered his Halls, left his Halls, and entered them again. He had not supposed the place to be escapable, but he had not mentioned the problem to anyone. He did not like talking.

"The variations have actually been surprisingly consistent," continued Manwë. "A certain Elf and Ranger, for example, have suffered grievous injuries in almost each loop. Lord Elrond has occasionally had more than one daughter. Place-names have changed, but only slightly, especially in the case of Rivendell. Once or twice, strange horses with long horns have appeared and gone galloping about pointlessly." ("A horse with a horn can't be pointless," muttered Tulkas rebelliously. He was ignored.) "The Fellowship has set out for Mordor, but in some variations, there have been Nine Walkers, and in some instances, Ten Walkers. Sometimes several members of the Fellowship have died, sometimes none of them have died."

"So how was history supposed to happen?" asked Yavanna curiously.

Manwë shook his head helplessly. "I do not know."

This time there was stunned silence. Manwë knew almost everything.

"What do we do, then?" asked Ulmo. "We can't just let these time-loops keep on happening."

"We can't risk changing history in the wrong direction," commented Oromë.

Mandos considered saying something about doom, but then he remembered that he had used that word in the past six councils. Anyway, by now maybe the others would have realized that nearly everything ends in doom. He remained silent.

"I have been researching," said Manwë, "and it seems that the only explanation for this is otherworldly intervention."

"Otherworldly?" asked Vána.

"There are hundreds of worlds all around us," said Manwë. "They do not overlap... usually. When they do, only catastrophe can result."

Mandos reflected that Manwë had phrased the whole doom thing even better than he could have.

"Someone has been tampering with our world, changing what was supposed to be. We have to find out who is doing it, why they are doing it, how they are doing it, how we can keep them from doing it, and also how the history of Middle-Earth is supposed to turn out," said Manwë.

Gasps.

"I plan to send several Valar to the worlds that are nearest to ours and that seem the most threatening," said Manwë. "We shall keep our eyes open for disturbances, for portals that may lead to these worlds. If you find one, keep it open for as long as you can, and we'll see what we can do about it. This could be very dangerous, especially since we'll have to remain clad in mortal bodies for the duration of our stay in another world."

Mandos and Lórien winced. Nienna wept quietly in her corner, unhappy at the prospects of having to cry nonstop during her potential mission.

"All right, that's all I have to say," said Manwë. "You can go now."

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Vairë was tearing out all her tapestries in a fit of temper, and Mandos was watching, not bothering to stop her, since he did not particularly want to lose a limb. The handmaidens had all gone rushing from the room the moment Vairë had coming stalking into it. They were clearly very wise. 

"They're always messing up their pathetic lives, curse them! Now they're trying to wreck history itself!" yelled Vairë, shredding a depiction of happy Elves feasting in Nargothrond. It was a disturbing sight. "Who gave the blighters a free will anyway?"

Mandos nodded, and thought about doom.

"All my weaving is worth nothing! It's just symbolic trash!" yelled Vairë, heaving her loom out the window. There was a squeak from below, as it laid Lórien out cold. (Such is the disadvantage of a hröa.) "I don't know why I bothered to record their history," she sobbed. "They're nasty and ungrateful and I hate them."

Nienna stepped into the Hall cautiously, tears trickling sympathetically down her face. "Do not worry, Vairë," she said soothingly, scooting Mandos out of the way. "We'll manage to fix everything. Haven't we always?"

Vairë nodded, sniffling. "It's just so dreadful to learn that all my tapestries are inaccurate," she said.

Nienna picked up the pieces of yarn and thread. "That is no reason to destroy thousands of years of work," she said. "Our situation is not that bad."

Lórien wobbled into the room, looking as though he were in pain. "It's all a big panic for nothing," he said. "So what if their history is going around in circles! _I_ don't really care."

Nienna scowled at him. "Try to be a little more comforting and empathetic. I for one feel sorry for the poor Elves and mortals stuck in Arda, living the same thing over and over."

"You should go into the carpet-business, Vairë," said Lórien, trying to be more comforting and empathetic before his sister could start making a speech.

Vairë sighed. "Maybe I should," she murmured.

Mandos was worried, because his spouse was clearly suffering from mood swings. He thought that perhaps she needed some kind of Help.

"Manwë got the bad news off his chest, and that will be that," Lórien finished, firm and resolute and incredibly optimistic.

* * *

That would have been that, except a portal _did_ open, and Manwë, who was sitting in Oiolossë, happened to notice it, due to Varda's helpful presence. The portal was very subtle, merely a slight tear in the fabric of the world, and it opened up around Prince Legolas and swallowed him whole. Legolas's disappearance was about a subtle as a smack on the face, far more conspicuous than the actual portal, and Manwë, who took his job very seriously, could not overlook something so obvious. He managed to hold it open, and while he did so, he yelled, "Help! Help! Valar to me!" 

Tragically for the Fëanturi and their sister, they were dutiful Valar, and thus the first ones to arrive on the scene. The only sign of their presence was a slight chill in the air, but Manwë knew they were there. "Go on!" he yelled, panicking. "I don't know how much longer I can hold this! Go through it!"

Nienna could not help but be reminded of Ulmo, and his dolphin-training sessions. ("Come on, my darlings! Go through the hoop! Go through the hoop! I'll give you a fish if you do it! That's it! Yes, very good! Now do it once more! Hey! Come back, my darlings!") She sighed, and she and her brothers slipped through the portal with easy grace.

Manwë felt the three Valar leave. He heaved a sigh of relief, and let the portal close. "Varda, dearest," he said, "whom should I put in charge of the Halls?"

Varda smiled. "It depends, my love, on how much you want the poor fëar to suffer."

Manwë considered this with a rather diabolical expression on his face.

"And people think Manwë is too nice," thought Varda to herself.

She chuckled knowingly.

TBC


	2. Out of the Closet of Krystalynn

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Silmarillion_. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, and not for money.

Many thanks to those of you who reviewed. I am very grateful for your encouragement.

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**CHAPTER TWO**

_'Legolas was fair of face beyond the measure of Men...' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Return of the King'_

Krystalynn was a girl with a computer in her bedroom. Hence, her parents saw her very rarely. If they wanted to know whether she was alive or not, they would stand by her bedroom door with their ears pressed against it, listening for the sound of fingers busily typing. (Her father said that he could also hear her brain cells dying in droves, but he was often sarcastic and no one took him very seriously.)

Krystalynn had a deep, dark secret. She wrote fanfiction. She kept this a deep, dark secret because her parents had a habit of being very proud of her whenever she did something creative, and then telling everyone they met all about it. Krystalynn had worrying visions of her parents saying to someone, "Oh, this is Krystalynn. She writes fanfiction", and the someone saying, "Huh... fanfiction?" Or worse, the someone crying, "Fanfiction is the lowest form of literature! How horrible!" So she wrote secretly, and in the realms of fanfiction, her name was _2cool4words_, which she thought was kind of catchy.

So far, her fanfiction experience had been a good one. Except for the time when she had been flamed by some moron called _death-to-writers-of-tripe._ She would probably need therapy later in life because of that creep.

Currently, Krystalynn was writing a story about Legolas. She loved Legolas. His blonde hair was so nice and swishy, and his eyes were so big and bright, and his English accent was so cute. And how could she resist a guy who could jump on his horse by sort of swinging around it without getting trampled?

_Krystalynn was sitting in her bedroom reading a book_, wrote Krystalynn, who had only read about three books in her life. _She was a hardworking studant who all the teachers loved and she had many friends. However she didn't let any of them intrud on her daily nighttime reading. _

_As she was turning the page she heard a thump from her closet. Being a very brave girl she picked up her book and walked over and opened the door. There was somebody inside! _

"_Who are you, stranger?" demanded Krystalynn boldly. _

"_I am Legolas, fair lady" said the Elf. "Were am I?" _

"_Your in my room." said Krystalynn her mind racing. Why was Legolas here? What would she do? Krystalynn decided to handle the situation calmly. _

Krystalynn sat and stared at her computer screen. What was Legolas going to do? Maybe he should panic. She liked the thought of herself calmly dealing with a hyperventilating Elf-prince.

Suddenly, horribly, there was a thump in her closet. Krystalynn froze. If her sister's cat was stuck in there again, she wouldn't have a moment's peace! Amanda-Lynn's crazed feline was positively diabolical. Krystalynn would have sworn that Amanda-Lynn put the cat in there on purpose.

Krystalynn got up and crept over to the closet. "There, there, Gingeroo. I'm not going to hurt you," she crooned, shivering with fear. She still had a long scratch mark down one hand from the last time she'd tried to pick up the savage animal.

She opened the door, ready to duck.

Someone with big, grey eyes was staring at her in surprise.

Krystalynn screamed as loudly as she could, staggered backwards, and tumbled over her dirty laundry, which was lying on the floor. She landed on her bed, still screaming.

Legolas, (for it was undoubtably he), asked her something in a language that was definitely not English. The only foreign language Krystalynn knew was Spanish, so she said, "Hoopla," in a trembling voice.

Legolas seemed very startled. He had a knife in his hand. Krystalynn wondered if she should begin screaming again. Then she remembered, at this unpleasant moment, that her parents were away for the weekend, and that the only person in the house was Amanda-Lynn, who was a Harry Potter fanatic. It was unlikely that her sister would come rushing to her aid, even if it sounded like her little sister was experiencing an amputation of some sort without anesthetics.

"Oh dear," Krystalynn gulped.

"What on earth are you doing, you wretched girl?" yelled Amanda-Lynn from somewhere in the house.

"I'm just in my bedroom... having fun..." whimpered Krystalynn, "... with an Elf," she added, under her breath.

Amanda-Lynn, thus appeased, was silent.

"What are you doing in here?" whispered Krystalynn, cowering in corner. The Elf was still staring at her blankly. He asked something else, but Krystalynn couldn't understand him. This was not a fun experience. She resorted to communicating in simple sign-language.

_Don't. _Strange, horizontal chopping motions with hand, while shaking head frantically.

_Hurt._ Stabbing motion at self, accompanied by gurgles.

_Me. _Point to self.

The Elf, if possible, looked even more confused. Krystalynn and Legolas stared at each other. "Why is this happening to me?" murmured Krystalynn piteously.

Then the closet door opened, and a tall man stepped out and looked around. Krystalynn's mouth dropped open, but her throat was too sore for her to start screaming again. Then a woman scrambled out of the closet, dressed simply in a grey-blue dress, her long dark hair braided. Just when Krystalynn was wondering where all these people were coming from, and how they were fitting in her closet, one last man emerged.

He was an imposing figure. He was tall, almost touching her ceiling, his hair was jet black, and his eyes were sharp and piercing. Not reassuringly, Legolas had fallen on the floor at the man's feet. Krystalynn tried desperately to turn invisible, but it didn't work.

"So this is the place," remarked the woman, dusting herself off and brushing something sparkling from her eyes. It almost looked as though she had been crying. "You must be Krystalynn."

"Yes," Krystalynn squeaked, feeling that some reply was required of her.

"We mean you no harm," said the first man softly. "But you opened up a portal here, and we had to make the most of it at once."

"A portal?" What was this: her life, or some crazy science-fiction movie?

"It was intended for Legolas," said the first man again, "but we Valar are capable of using such things for our own ends."

The third man was simply glaring at her. Krystalynn could not meet his gaze, but she did not want to meet his gaze. If she'd looked him in the eye, she might have crumbled into ashes.

"Mandos, you are scaring the child," said the woman, elbowing him. Then she stooped and took Legolas by the hand. (Krystalynn was momentarily consumed with envy.) "Legolas Thranduilion," she said gently in Sindarin (though Krystalynn neither recognized or understood the strange language), "do not fear. You will be returned to Middle-Earth forthwith."

"My lady," gasped Legolas, who knew a Vala when he saw one.

"All will be explained in due time," said the woman. "Do not worry. Now enter the small room of clothes and you will be returned to your home."

Legolas bowed and walked into Krystalynn's closet. The girl sighed as he vanished from her view. Legolas had showed up in her bedroom, and she hadn't taken proper advantage of his presence! It had been her opportunity to woo an Elf-Prince, and she had ended up just thrashing around and screaming.

"Not many girls can claim to have actually summoned Legolas from Arda," said the first man, who seemed to understand Krystalynn's feelings on the matter. "Now, what do you call your world?"

"Earth, I guess," said Krystalynn, still in shock.

"Just Earth? Hmm," said the man. "I am Lórien," he continued. "Perhaps you have heard of me?"

"Yeah, I think," said Krystalynn. "But isn't Lórien a place?"

Lórien nodded. "Indeed. I am named after my abode. My sister is Nienna, and Mandos is my elder brother."

Nienna inclined her head. She had a rather sad expression on her face, but her slight smile was one of dry amusement. As for the one called Mandos, he looked as though if he smiled, his face would fall off.

"But what are you?" demanded Krystalynn, with a burst of foolhardiness. "Why are you here?"

"We are Valar," said Lórien.

"Valar? Is that a weird gang or something?" asked Krystalynn, unwisely.

Nienna shook her head, her smile becoming a tinge more sarcastic. "Not quite. I prefer the term 'motley band', personally."

"We have come to investigate your world, because we think that the beings here are negatively affecting our world," continued Lórien, as if his sister had said nothing. Krystalynn was beginning to get freaked out by the way he didn't blink. Of the three 'Valar', Lórien was the least intimidating, but there was still something very nerve-wracking about him.

"May we make ourselves comfortable?" asked Nienna pointedly.

"Umm, sure. Go ahead," said Krystalynn. The Valar sat down on her bed and looked at her. "But, I mean, like, what do you want with me?"

"We do not really want anything with _you_," said Nienna. "We just want to do some research."

"You won't hurt me, or anything?" asked Krystalynn cautiously.

All three of her strange visitors shook their heads immediately. "Oh no," said Lórien. "As I previously stated, you will not be harmed."

"Ok," said Krystalynn. "But, unless you guys want to be harmed, you'd better not bother my sister. She hates _The_ _Lord of the Rings_." She had by now determined that the three visitors were LOTR nuts who had somehow managed to infiltrate her closet.

"Then we are on the same side," said Lórien, who was apparently their spokesman. "You will be glad to know that the Lord of the Rings was recently defeated."

"Huh? Are you talking about the actual evil Ring-making guy?" asked Krystalynn. "Amanda-Lynn hates the _book_, not _Sauron._ She slept through the part where Gollum falls in the big volcano-thing."

There was a moment of mutual confusion, and then the three Valar exchanged looks. "A book?" asked Nienna finally. "How peculiar. Perhaps you could show us a copy?"

"I think Dad has one somewhere," muttered Krystalynn. She went to the door. "Er... could you not leave the room? And please don't break anything."

"We are not vandals," said Lórien reproachfully.

Krystalynn slunk away, wondering what had gone wrong with her perfect life. She had three Valar stuck in her room and it seemed that they did not intend to go anywhere else.

What were Valar anyway?

TBC


	3. A Test for the Computer Device

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Silmarillion_. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, and not for money.

This chapter is dedicated to **JadedFire**, because without her influence a certain character would not have appeared in this story. I'm very glad he did.

Once again, many thanks to those who reviewed. I hope you enjoy this next update!

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**CHAPTER THREE**

_'Among those of his servants that have names the greatest was that spirit whom the Eldar called Sauron...' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarilion'_

"Do we have a copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ in our house?" asked Krystalynn nervously, standing outside her sister's bedroom. Amanda-Lynn was watching television, stroking Gingeroo, and rereading _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_, all at the same time.

"A copy of the _book_?" asked her sister incredulously, over the sound of the television.

"Yes. Do we have it?"

"Of course not," snapped Amanda-Lynn. She had a name that sounded like (and was frequently mistaken for) the words 'a mandolin' and it had made her resentful, bitter, and full of internalized anger. "You're the only one in this family who likes the stupid book anyway."

"I don't know if I like it or not," said Krystalynn, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I haven't read it."

"Well, you like the stupid movie," said her sister moodily, flipping the channel with her remote. "Go away or I'll hex you into next week."

Krystalynn went away. She had already been on the receiving end of her sister's hexes, and she had learned that getting bashed over the head with a wooden wand is not a pleasant experience.

Krystalynn stood outside her bedroom door, taking deep breaths. Yes, she had three strange, scary people in her room, who wanted something she was unable to give them, but it was no _real_ reason to panic. She opened the door and walked in.

They were all standing over her computer, looking at it. Lórien and Nienna seemed amused. Krystalynn remembered, with horror, that she had left the document containing her story out in the open. They must be reading it!

"Krystalynn, what does it mean to 'intrud'?" asked Nienna, completely expressionless.

Krystalynn could sense that she was being mocked. She prayed for instant death, but nothing happened. Lórien smiled reassuringly at her. "Do not worry. We aren't here to make fun of your writing," he said. "We have some questions to ask you."

"All right," said Krystalynn, shivering. She sat down on her bed. "I'll tell you all I know."

Mandos glided forward and stood in front of her, so that Krystalynn had to look nearly straight up to see his face. "What is this strange device?" he asked her, nodding in the direction of the computer.

He had a deep voice, but a soft one. It entered Krystalynn's ears and resonated inside her head until it filled her whole body, where it thrummed like the lowest string on an electric guitar. The only way to make it die down was to answer his question, and answer it as quickly as possible.

"It's a computer," choked out Krystalynn.

"How does it work?"

"I don't know."

"Is it an invention of the Enemy?"

"I think this guy called Bob Gates invented it."

("Bob Gates does not sound like the Enemy," whispered Lórien to Nienna.)

"Did you use this computer to summon up Legolas?"

"Look, I don't know how that happened!" wailed Krystalynn. "I was writing a story about him being in my closet, and the next thing I knew he was, like, there!"

This seemed to be important, because Nienna and Lórien exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Do many of your people write stories about Legolas?" asked Mandos.

Krystalynn was so thankful to be able to answer his question that she nearly burst into tears. "Yes!" she cried. "Lots of people write about Legolas!"

More meaningful glances. Lórien sidled over to the computer, lifted up the keyboard and peered at it solemnly. He pressed one of the keys, and watched as the letter appeared on the computer screen. He did not seem much surprised. Then he carefully typed out the words _At that moment, a nonthreatening Sauron appeared in Krystalynn's bedroom, wearing a tea-cosy as a hat._

Nothing happened. The Valar all seemed a bit disappointed.

"Could you try copying that out?" asked Lórien. He handed Krystalynn the keyboard, and she sat down before her computer, took a deep breath, and rapidly typed: _At htat moment a nonthreanteing Sauron appeared in Krystalynn's bedroom wearing a tea cozy as a hat. _

There was a soft thumping sound from behind her. Krystalynn turned around in her chair very, very slowly.

A boy was standing there. He must have been about ten years old. He had spiky black hair, large amber eyes, and he was rather cute, Krystalynn thought hazily, in a scary sort of way. He did not look like Sauron; at least, he did not look like Movie-Sauron, who had been a lot taller and had worn armor. The only thing that persuaded Krystalynn of his identity was that he was wearing a tea-cozy on his head (something that Movie-Sauron had been strangely lacking).

The child was looking around warily, but after one glance at the Valar, he seemed to understand the situation. Mandos grabbed Sauron by the back of his black robes, and lifted him off the ground, which helped him understand the situation even better. The boy kicked and clawed futilely, but Mandos gave him a terrifying glare and shook him like a rat.

Sauron stopped fighting and began sulking instead.

"Well, my genius brother, what are you planning on doing with the little Dark Lord now?" Nienna asked Lórien.

Lórien shrugged. "We have proved that the computer has some evil power, have we not? It must be the thing that is changing the history of Arda."

"How do we know it's not the _girl_ with the evil power?" asked Nienna.

"I don't have an evil power!" spluttered Krystalynn.

Sauron pulled the tea-cozy off his head, and demanded, "What have you done to me?"

Mandos shook him again, and Nienna sighed. She looked at the Maia, who was quietly wringing the tea-cozy's neck."Well, Lórien, at least he is nonthreatening," she said sarcastically.

"At least no one has tried to summon him to this world before," said Lórien. "Who knows what would have come of that?" He turned to Krystalynn. "Would you write something that would make him behave?"

Krystalynn turned back to the computer, her eyes gleaming. This was it! She could do anything! Her power was limitless! Legolas! Aragorn! Faramir! Celeborn! Any of them could be hers!

The possibilities were endless.

"No need to get carried away," said Mandos. It was as if he could read her mind. He probably could.

Krystalynn subsided. She typed _Sauron was on the valers side and he didnt want to hurt anybody._

"There. He should be OK now," she said.

"This is no way to treat a comrade," said Sauron fiercely, still dangling in Mandos's grasp. The Vala eyed him doubtfully, but put him on the ground again. Sauron crossed his arms over his chest and glared at all in sundry.

Too late, they heard footsteps on the hall. Amanda-Lynn opened the door, glaring. "Krystalynn, what are y–"

Amanda-Lynn's jaw dropped, and she gaped at the four visitors in astonishment. Eventually she began to comprehend what she was seeing.

"By Merlin!" she squealed, her eyes fixed on Sauron's spiky hair. "It's Harry Potter!"

* * *

"_Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!" yelled Aragorn, steadying his horse and clutching his sword._

_An Orc poked his head into Sauron's inner sanctum. "My lord, er, someone wants you to come down, er, so they can, er, do justice to you." _

_The inner sanctum was devoid of Sauron. The Orc, being none too clever, was confused._

_The Mouth of Sauron was pulling on his helmet grimly, and arranging his cloak dramatically about him. _

"_Er, where's the, er, Dark Lord?" asked the Orc. _

"_He appears to have disappeared," said the Mouth of Sauron with noble calm. "I had better go instead." _

TBC


	4. The Halls of ?

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, and not for money.

Responses to reviewers are posted on my bio page.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_'The Eye was rimmed with fire, but was itself glazed, yellow as a cat's, watchful and intent, and the black slit of its pupil open on a pit, a window into nothing.' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring_

For an exciting moment, Krystalynn expected to see her older sister fall at the feet of Sauron and grovel there, as only a deranged fangirl can. Sadly, this was not to be. Amanda-Lynn blinked, looked at the stunned Sauron again, saw no distinguishing lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, and screamed, "A Harry Potter impersonator!"

She grabbed Sauron, who struggled futilely, and began to lug him across the room. Lórien reluctantly prevented her from flinging the Dark Lord out the window.

"Who are these Muggles?" snarled Amanda-Lynn, outraged at being thwarted in her efforts to eradicate the Potter-impersonator. She was holding her authentic _Harry Potter _wand in one hand, and looked as though she might start impaling people on it.

"They're, um, friends of mine," said Krystalynn. "Mandos, Lórien, Nienna, meet my sister, Amanda-Lynn."

The Valar stared stonily at Krystalynn's older sister, but she did not drop dead, much to the younger girl's disappointment.

"Why are these idiots wearing nightgowns?" asked Amanda-Lynn, with so little tact that everyone in the room was appalled.

"They are not idiots, and they are not wearing nightgowns," snapped Krystalynn. "They're Valar."

"I don't want any stupid Valars in my house!" yelled Amanda-Lynn, forgetting in her rage that it was not her house, but belonged to her parents, who had worked hard to buy it. "Get out of here and go to the library or something! Improve your tiny minds!"

The minds of the Fëanturi, Nienna and Sauron were anything but tiny. In fact, they were being led to believe that the tiniest mind in the room belonged to a certain teenage tyrant whose name sounded like that of a musical instrument. Sauron glared in the girl's direction and muttered something that sounded very, very uncomplimentary. Nienna hushed him, which was a strangely motherly thing for her to do, especially when she silently agreed with him.

Mandos, however, was not particularly insulted. He was above being offended by petty mortals. He thought that going to library sounded like a good idea, because surely a library would have a copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ in it.

Amanda-Lynn was still screeching something (Unforgivable Curses, but he did not know that), so he shot her a glare that made her go pale and quiet, and cringe against the bedroom door. The silence came as a great relief.

Mandos did not like to talk. Talking was, in his mind, nearly pointless. He especially disliked it when people asked stupid questions, because most things become clear in time. For example, when he began to exit the room (Amanda-Lynn scuttling out of the way) and Krystalynn asked, "Where are you going?" he was not impressed, because if she had followed him, she would have realized that he was going to find the library. He wished that mortals would exercise their brains sometimes, instead of their tongues.

The other two Valar followed him out of the room, Sauron in tow. Krystalynn was relieved to see them go, but she didn't really want to admit it to her sister, so she yelled, "Amanda-Lynn! Why did you make them leave? I hate you!" Then she bravely pushed Amanda-Lynn out of her bedroom, slammed the door, and hastily locked it before her sister could break in and clobber her.

The four otherwordly visitors winced at the noise, and stepped out of the house, feeling thankful to be gone. Krystalynn had been very annoying, and her sister had been even worse.

The first impressions of Mandos and Lórien regarding this new world were not favorable. It was far too bright. The overwhelmingly sunlight made their eyes water. They blinked miserably for a few moments, while Nienna watched rather smugly, glad that _she _wasn't the one crying.

Once they could see again, their first view of the outside world was a startling one. Strange metal machines were zooming past rows of grey houses at great speeds. People were striding along beside the ink-black roads on a sort of white stone walkway. The mortals were garbed in a rather odd attire, and one of them had bright green hair and six or seven rings in his ears and nose.

The Valar had been prepared for something different from Valinor, but they were astonished anyway. Sauron didn't even know what was happening, and so he was startled by the sight as well. They gaped for a moment (well, Mandos didn't gape, but the other three did), and then they began walking, staring at everything.

After a moment, Sauron asked, "_Who _did she think I was?"

"Don't know," said Nienna. "Hairy something."

"Well, that's insulting," Sauron muttered to himself, and was silent again.

Now, Sauron might have been on the side of the Valar, and he might have stopped wanting to hurt people, but this did not make him _good_. He was not just about to switch over to the Other Side when some keyboard-wielding adolescent typed the magic words. Thus, with his innate instinct for tracking down and taking anything of monetary value, he had found Amanda-Lynn's purse and stolen a paper banknote from it. He unfolded this banknote as he walked down the sidewalk beside Nienna.

"What is that?" she asked.

"I think it's money," said Sauron. "It's got a fifty written on it."

"What? You stole their money?" asked Lórien, horrified.

Sauron stuck out his tongue, and thrust the banknote back into his tea-cozy. "Yes, of course I stole it!" he said. "It might not have occurred to you, Your High-And-Mightiness, but if we want to get anything here, we'll have to either steal it, or buy it."

"And, in this case, buy it with stolen money," pointed out Nienna.

Sauron shrugged."It's a start. You Valar aren't used to paying for things, are you?"

Nienna shook her head, looking a bit irritable. Sauron's worldly-wisdom was beginning to grate on her nerves already. "No, we're not used to paying for things," she said. "Are you?"

"No, but I'm used to stealing them."

Lórien was horrified, but Nienna muttered, "At least he's an honest thief."

"Let's just hope a fifty goes far enough," Sauron said. "This paper stuff could be worthless anyway."

Lórien appealed to his older brother. "Námo, what are we going to do?"

Mandos looked at the piece of paper, and sighed. "Would you like to return it to that demented girl?" he asked.

Lórien gave the proposal serious consideration for slightly less than a millisecond. "No," he said firmly. He thought that if he saw the demented girl again, he would be sorely tempted to zap her with a lightning bolt.

Mandos continued walking, having made his point. He was focusing on locating the library. Since Amanda-Lynn had suggested going there, he knew it must be nearby.

Sure enough, it was. It took them only about fifteen minutes to get there, despite their walk being somewhat slowed by the time they spent looking at the cars that zipped along the busy streets, and at the people who were plodding homeward.

The people who were plodding homeward tried to stare covertly at the four strangers who were strolling down the sidewalk clad in exquisite robes, robes that swished dramatically about them. The sight of the foursome was made more spectacular by the fact that three of them were extremely tall and beautiful. The fact that a small boy with spiky hair, wearing dusty, ragged robes of black, was trotting after them, only made them more fascinating.

The result of this was that everyone slowed down, the Valar to look at the mortals, and the mortals to gawk at the Valar. Fortunately, there were no confrontations, not even when Sauron began shouting insulting names at people.

"If you were my child," snapped Nienna, "I'd give you a sound spanking."

"Guess what. I'm not your child," sneered Sauron. "I may look young, but back home I was taking over the world."

"Brat. That's not a nice thing to boast about," retorted Nienna. "And you both _look_ young and are _acting_ young. Moments ago you were sticking out your tongue at people. Is that the sort of thing a decent Dark Lord would do?"

Sauron sniffed haughtily, and ignored her.

They reached the library without further incident, but then the Maia tried to push his luck again. "So this is a library," he said, gazing at the plain, brown-tiled building coolly. "It doesn't look very interesting."

"What would make it interesting?" asked Lórien, irritated. "A few spiky turrets and a couple fell beasts to circle threateningly around it?"

Sauron, who was getting more juvenile every time they looked at him, rolled his eyes.

Here is the interesting thing about libraries: in libraries, people are afraid to make direct eye-contact with strangers, for fear the strangers will start up a conversation with them. This would be very embarrassing. Most people in libraries want to scurry about with piles of books, silent and unseen by everyone. To have someone say, "Hello! How are you? What lovely weather we're having!" would be the ultimate humiliation for the average library patron. They might even be forced to reply to the overly friendly stranger, in which case, they would admitting that the stranger exists. Libraries are for reading quietly, not for chatting with other people.

Because of this interesting fact, no one looked at Mandos, Lórien, Nienna and Sauron when they entered the library. Yes, these people were strange, and yes, they were dressed in a very bizarre style, and yes, the automatic door made them all step back in horrified surprise, but this was no reason to stare at them. Not in a library.

Mandos liked the way this place was nearly silent. There were shelves of books everywhere, and contented readers strolled about, books in hand, dreamy expressions on their faces. It was a sort of utopia. He looked around for a librarian, who would tell him where to find _The Lord of the Rings_. Nienna went to the bookshelves, and Lórien went to find somewhere where he could nap for a while.

Sauron ignored the books. He liked gaining knowledge, but reading was too dull for him. His gaze was fixed on the fifteen or so computers that lined the back walls. He had only experienced computers briefly, but they had seemed interesting. Interesting and powerful. He thought that he would like to experience them a little more.

It was a Friday afternoon and a horde of teenagers, fresh out of school, had hurried to the computer section to surf the Web, play games, or write essays (but mainly to surf the Web and play games). Sauron found a boy who was playing a more violent computer game than the rest, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Huh?" said the boy, rapidly shooting at the enemy.

"I'd like to use that," said Sauron.

"Huh?" repeated the boy, who tragically had a limited vocabulary. He shot at more of the enemies. There was an explosion of some sort. Sauron watched in fascination for a moment, and then repeated himself.

"Listen," said the game-player, "scram, OK?"

Sauron, who had understood only one third of the boy's statement (and even that part hadn't made much sense to him) was beginning to grow impatient. He tapped the boy on the shoulder again, and this time the player turned around threateningly, ready to deal out justice on the obnoxious child.

Sauron widened his amber eyes. They were slitted like a cat's, and their hypnotic quality was surmounted only by their ability to induce terror in the hearts of puny mortals. The player leapt out of his chair and stumbled backwards in horror, with a very satisfactory cry of dismay.

Sauron clambered into the chair and began playing where the other boy had left off. He was used to getting his own way.

* * *

"Everyone looks sad," said Tulkas. 

"This is the Halls of Mandos, not a playground," said Varda, in one of the most unnecessary differentiations of the past millennium. "This is where the fëar consider their misdeeds, and repent of them."

Nessa and Tulkas stood and looked at all the unhappy fëar, traumatized at seeing so much sadness all at one time. They did not realize that all the fëar were faking their pitiful expressions and repentant tears. They were secretly delighted that Mandos was no longer there to bother them. Without his stifling presence, the mood of the fëar had been nearly convivial.

"So, will you take charge of the Halls while Námo is otherwise occupied?" asked Varda.

"Certainly we shall," said Tulkas enthusiastically, producing his book of knock-knock jokes from his pocket. "We'll soon have them cheered up!"

Varda smiled pleasantly. "Yes, of course," she said. "They could use a little cheer." She danced merrily out of the Halls, happy to have Tulkas out of the way. It was nearly heart-wrenching that the fëar would have to suffer this, but most of them had been wicked anyway.

As she left, she could hear Tulkas explaining the painfully simple format of knock-knock jokes. "When I say 'knock, knock', you say 'who's there'," he commanded.

"Why?" someone asked rebelliously. It was most likely that the someone was Fëanor.

"Because I say so!" bellowed Tulkas with his usual good humor. No one could crush him. No one could rebel against him. He possessed all the cheerful imperviousness and undisputed intelligence of a drunken mûmak.

Varda chortled with evil amusement, and dashed lightly out of the Halls before she could hear anything else.

TBC


	5. Of Captives Set Free

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, and not for money.

Many thanks to those of you who took the time to review. I'm very grateful! I hope you enjoy this fifth chapter.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

_'His likeness has never again appeared in Arda, neither has his spirit left the halls of Mandos.' _

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

When she had been born, she had been named Corky. Her parents had thought it sounded cute. She thought it sounded like a name a shamelessly eccentric person would give their poor dog.

When she had turned eighteen, she had legally changed her name. She was now Lúthien Tinúviel. No one ever got the accent marks right. Her few friends all called her Luthy, which was aggravating, because it sounded like an infantile pronunciation of Lucy. But one has to take the good with the bad, sometimes.

On the Internet, she was known as _death-to-writers-of-tripe._ She struck with a vengeance, humiliating tripe-writers and pointing out all their misdeeds with great skill and enjoyment. She liked to think that she was the terror of all non-purists, and that they shook in their shoes at the thought of _death-to-writers-of-tripe_ reviewing their work (i.e. figuratively ripping their work to tiny shreds and then figuratively cremating the remains).

In her spare time, she wrote theses discussing the question of Balrogs' wings. She composed tunes for the Lays of Beleriand, and sang them as she played on her harp. She had memorized most of _The Silmarillion_ so that she could crush nonconformists to the Canon without having to reach for her well-worn edition of The Book.

Every night, before she went to bed, she gave her laminated photograph of Professor Tolkien a chaste kiss.

She was, without a doubt, one of the most fanatical Tolkien purists in existence.

She came directly to the library from her job, and, after waiting in a slow-moving queue for a while, had gained access to one of the library computers. Usually she would have gone straight to a fanfiction website to hunt down tripe-writers and flame them into oblivion, but today, she had new priorities.

She had decided that she was going to write her own work of fanfiction. Tripe-writers would read it and despair. It would be so well-written, so clever, so witty and so original that she would get hundreds of admiring reviews. People would beg her for more.

She sniggered to herself, considering writing up to a cliffhanger, and then ceasing to update. She would drive them all mad.

She was going to write about Fëanor. Fëanor was an extraordinary Elf. Luthy could identify with him. He hadn't been afraid to make his feelings known. _She_ wasn't afraid to make _her_ feelings known. "We would have gotten along so well," the poor deluded female told herself, as she preened before the computer screen.

She decided to start with angst. Fëanor would be repentant. He would be suffering in the Halls of Mandos, thinking repentant thoughts and arguing with his sons. She wanted her reviewers to be reading her story through a blur of tears.

After a while, Luthy began wondering if she was pouring on too many clichés (clichés that she would have flamed anyone else over), but she dismissed this worry almost immediately. She was writing a masterpiece. A masterpiece is just a set of clichés compiled in a new way by someone with talent (her, obviously).

Now that Fëanor was truly suffering, she decided to add herself to the mix. He was going to fall in love with her; that was the point of the story. He would somehow fall into her world, end up in her apartment, and she would take care of him. Unfortunately, Luthy was unsure of how to write this section, so she put an ellipsis in between the paragraphs and moved on, to when Fëanor landed in Her World.

Just as she was writing this part, the librarian tapped her on the shoulder. "Your time's up, miss," she said severely, peering over her spectacles in a way indicating that she disapproved of everyone who came to the library for purposes other than reading. "There's a gentleman waiting to use this computer."

Luthy sighed heavily, with a half-hearted glare in the direction of the 'gentleman' and e-mailed her Story So Far to herself, as was her technologically advanced method. She heaved her weary body from the painful library chair, and staggered off in the direction of the parking lot, to find her car and go home.

She did not notice the tall man who stood by the shelves with a worried expression on his face. Mandos had sensed the liberation of Fëanor from his Halls. Such an event could only have horrific consequences.

Mandos hurried off to find his sister, muttering things about doom under his breath.

* * *

Tulkas was enjoying having a captive audience. Forcing people to listen to his jokes was a technique that possessed wonderful merits. He was half-way through his joke book, and he hardly ever got half-way through his joke book. Once he had read nearly half of it to Lórien, but Lórien had been asleep at the time. When Lórien had woken up, he had been extremely cantankerous, which was unusual, because the Vala was generally good-natured. He had blamed the joke book, most unfairly. 

"Knock, knock," said Tulkas, peering over the top of the book at the fëar. They hadn't quite perked up yet, he thought. They would probably have to hear the whole joke-book before it took full effect.

"Who's there?" chorused the fëar spiritlessly.

"Banana!" said Tulkas.

"Banana who?" droned the fëar.

At that moment, Fëanor, who had been sitting in a corner, glaring at the Vala (and not participating in the joke session!), disappeared completely with a little _poofing_ sound.

"Where did he go?" wondered Tulkas aloud.

The fëar had no answers. They looked at the Vala sadly and shrugged. They were all thinking about how Fëanor always managed to avoid suffering the consequences of his actions. All were thinking this but Turgon. He was murmuring confusedly to himself, "'Banana, where did he go?'... I do not think I understood that joke. I do not even know what a banana is."

"Oh well," said Tulkas. " We can have fun without him. ...Knock, knock!" he repeated.

* * *

The following describes what an Elf-lord does when he has been whisked out of the Halls of Mandos and into your small city apartment. 

First he stands there, completely in shock, staring wonderingly at the strange pattern on your wallpaper. Then he realizes that he has a body again, and he is thrilled and excited. He stretches luxuriously, like a cat, and then he goes in search of a mirror, to remind himself of what his face looks like.

He finds a mirror in your bathroom, but it is too low down for him to see anything. Unwilling to stoop to its level, he pulls it off the wall and holds it up at the proper position. He is happy with what he sees. He admires his burning eyes and his perfect nose and so on, and eventually he starts singing to himself in Quenya, as he happily exits the bathroom, a skip in his step.

He opens all the cupboards in your little kitchen, and accidentally turns on your microwave, which startles him. When he recovers from his shock, he proves to himself that the microwave does not frighten him by turning it on again and watching its every move.

Once he has determined that the microwave will not attack him, he opens your refrigerator. The sight of food makes him resume his singing with even more gusto than before. He supposes that the refrigerator is a new kind of ice box, and he likes it.

He takes out a can of soda, and shakes it, and the sloshing sound inside informs him that it is some kind of drink. He inventively puts your electric can opener to good use, and a column of soda goes shooting into the air. At last the aluminum can is nothing but a mangled heap, with soda seeping from it like blood. He is unperturbed by this. He finds a glass and pours the remainder of the soft drink into it, then fishes the slivers of metal from the liquid and takes a wary sip. The sugar in the soda nearly sends him into a diabetic coma.

When he recovers from the soda, he pours the remains of the drink into the kitchen sink, and then rummages through your refrigerator again. He finds a container of milk, but the milk tastes completely different from the milk he remembers. He finds an apple, and eats that, even though it tastes nothing like a_ real_ apple, because he is very hungry. He has not eaten for thousands of years, since he has been languishing in the Halls of Mandos.

He drifts into your bedroom, and peers out your window. He thinks that Valinor has changed a lot since he last saw it. There are less trees. There are many tall, grey buildings. The air looks smoggy. For a moment he panics, wondering if Morgoth has taken over the world again. Then he recovers, because this world looks nothing like Morgoth's black fortress. He smiles, and tells himself that he always knew that Valinor wouldn't be half as good without his unique presence.

He finishes his apple as he switches on every electrical appliance in your apartment. As he is scowling at your television, wondering what sort of gibberish the people are speaking, he hears you enter.

He does not know that you own this apartment. He is curious. He wanders over and sees you tossing your car keys onto the coffee table. You are humming to yourself, thinking about the fanfiction you are writing, and how wonderful it will be. Then you look up, see him looming over you, and begin to scream, the sound of which hurts his delicate ears.

Offended by his reception, he stalks back into the kitchen to eat the rest of your apples.

TBC


	6. A Divine SWAT Team

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, and not for money.

Thank you for reviewing!

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

_'"The Lord of the Ring is not Frodo, but the master of the Dark Tower of Mordor, whose power is again stretching out over the world!"'_

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Fellowship of the Ring'_

"Nienna, we need to get the book and go," said Mandos urgently. This unfortunate situation was forcing him to speak, and he was not pleased. "Do you know where Sauron and Lórien are?"

"Lórien is sound asleep in the Kiddie Korner," said Nienna, "and Sauron has scared a young gentleman half out of his mind and is now using the computer device. Do you want me to collect them?"

Mandos gave a sharp nod. "Fëanor is loose," he said. "He is somewhere nearby."

Nienna winced. "Ah, now I understand why we are in such a rush to leave," she muttered. Then she smiled brightly, and announced, "I thought that you would terrify the librarians if you started questioning them, so I took it upon myself to ask them. Apparently you will find the book in the Fantasy section."

"Fantasy section?" Mandos might have echoed, had he believed in echoing people when he was surprised. He did not believe in that, so he only raised his eyebrows. The history of Middle-Earth was only considered fantasy in this world? That was strange.

Nienna turned around and hurried to the Kiddie Korner to wake up her brother. Mandos glided over to the Fantasy section to look for _The Lord of the Rings_. Lo and behold, it was there, with a book called _The Silmarillion _perched on the shelf beside it. He picked up both of them and went to the librarian's desk.

The librarian was sitting there, stamping books with grim determination.

Mandos held out the books. "Am I allowed to take these out of the library?" he asked, trying not to sound threatening. This was difficult for him, but he managed well.

"Yes," said the librarian slowly, eyeing the strange young man. "_If_ you have a library card."

Mandos did not have a library card. "How might I get a library card?" he asked. The moment he had left Valinor, he had lost his knowledge of the things to come, and now he felt as though he were stumbling blindly through this bizarre new world. He did not know everything. He did not know what was going to happen – to him or to anyone else. He could only guess that it would all end with doom, but he could not be certain.

He hated asking all these questions.

"Yes, you can get a library card," said the librarian. "But it might take a while. You will have to fill out a form."

Mandos was a great believer in paperwork – he made his fëar fill out reams of it – but now was not the time to spend hours trying to get a library card. He began to wonder if he had met his match in this grim, unfriendly woman, who was even now getting out a clipboard with an inch-high pile of paper balanced precariously on top of it. She had an expression of evil satisfaction on her face.

Sauron, Nienna, and Lórien had congregated behind Mandos. Sauron was taking from his tea-cozy the piece of paper with the fifty printed on it. Lórien snatched it from his hand. "If we give you this money," he said, dangling the banknote in front of the librarian, "can we get the books? We need them urgently."

The librarian looked startled for a moment, and then she sniffed. "I shall not be bribed," she said firmly.

"Oh well," said Sauron, "at least we tried." He grabbed the Valar by their robes and tugged them away from the librarian's desk. "Give me those books," he said.

Mandos glared at him.

"Give me those books, _please_," said Sauron. He had never said the 'p' word before in his life. Mandos should have been proud.

"Give him the books, Námo," said Nienna, using Mandos's real name, an unfair tactic that frequently persuaded her older brother to do things. Why this tactic worked, she was not certain.

It worked now. Mandos forcefully handed Sauron the books and Sauron shoved the books into the tea-cozy. "There. Now let's go," he said.

"We're going to steal the books now?" asked Lórien, in horror.

"We shall return them, I suppose," said Sauron, shrugging. "Anyway, we are above their petty rules and regulations."

The Valar, being very nearly deities, could not help but agree.

But Sauron was not quite done. He smirked at Lórien. "I'm impressed," he said. "I didn't think you'd be so quick to resort to bribery. Congratulations."

"But I wasn't trying to bribe her!" gasped Lórien, once he could speak again. "I was trying to _buy_ the books!"

Sauron raised one skeptical, teasing eyebrow, and hurried casually out of the library. When he didn't set off any alarms, the Valar followed him, Lórien still indignant and offended, which was, of course, the response that Sauron had wanted.

"Don't worry," said Nienna mildly. "I'm sure it takes a lot longer for his bad influence to wear off on you."

Lórien looked even more worried at that comment, if such a thing be possible.

Once they had left, Sauron pulled out the books and examined them. He suddenly grinned in delight. "This one is named after _me_!" he exclaimed. "Look! See?"

The Valar remembered the connection between Sauron and the Lord of the Rings. Mandos and Nienna looked at each other longsufferingly. "Yes, that's very nice, dear," said Nienna. "We're all happy for you."

"Ha! _You_ don't have books named after you!" said Sauron. He opened the thick volume. "I bet this book is all about me!" he crowed.

Lórien took _The Silmarillion_ and turned to the index. He saw that he was mentioned on a total of ten pages. He decided that this was not something to get excited about. He passed the book to Nienna, who looked at the index and saw that she was mentioned on nine pages. She sighed and passed the book to Mandos. He did the same as his siblings, and saw that he was mentioned on twenty-two pages. He was rather pleased. Obviously being mean and scary has its little rewards. Look what it had done for Sauron.

"Back home," said Sauron, "I was just about to crush Isildur's heir and his pathetic band of rebels with my mighty army. I wonder which chapter contains an account of their inevitable defeat." He flipped to the table of contents. His eyes widened slightly. He flipped frantically to another part of the book. His eyes got bigger as he read. He flipped frantically some more. Then he yelled, "A _Halfling_? A _Halfling_ ruined all my ingenious plans!"

The Valar stared at the little Dark Lord in surprise.

"No! This cannot be!" cried Sauron, flinging the book at Mandos. Mandos caught it.

Nienna, who's job it was to sympathize with people, even wicked people, said, "I am very sorry, Sauron."

This did not help. Sauron's face got a scrunched-up look for a moment, and then he burst into tears. "He destroyed my Ring!" he wailed. "I didn't think he'd do something as stupid as that! Any _normal _person would have tried to use the Ring to finish me off!"

"Do you want a hug?" offered Nienna lamely. Sauron scowled at her, rubbed his nose on the sleeve of his robe, and sniffled pathetically for a few minutes, but the threat of a hug from Nienna soon calmed him down. Nienna suspected some of the tears had been for show, anyway. Sauron was a ten year-old now.

"When I get home again," he said, "I shall send my wraiths to Mount Doom. They will soon have the Halfling problem sorted out."

"When you get home," said Lórien vindictively, "they will probably have already defeated you."

Sauron blinked. Then he grinned diabolically. "That's good!" he said, rubbing his hands together with glee. "That means I'll return when they're least expecting me! They'll be celebrating my presumed demise! I'll soon have reestablished my rule, and then I'll make them rue the day they tried to defeat me!"

He cackled cheerfully to himself. The Valar exchanged worried glances.

"In fact," continued Sauron, "it will be even more psychologically damaging for them this way! They'll be partying, and the next thing they know, they'll be cringing before me in Barad-dûr! It's perfect!"

Lórien said, "I think we had better go and find Fëanor now, Mandos."

Mandos nodded. He agreed wholeheartedly.

* * *

Luthy dashed out of her apartment and slammed the door behind her. Fëanor! Fëanor was in her apartment! He was eating her apples! 

She could barely believe it.

Her first thought was to flee, but the elevator was faking its own death again, and refused to go anywhere. Her second thought was to run screaming down the stairs, but she didn't feel quite up to that. So she just stood there, slumped against the door, her mind slowly sliding down a slope towards sheer panic and hysteria.

She began to wonder if Fëanor could be placated somehow. He had seemed hungry. What if she cooked him something nice?

This Elf was a _Kinslayer_.

Luthy squeaked at the thought. Fëanor had _killed_ other Elves. What would he do to a human who annoyed him?

They would never find her remains.

Then she realized that Fëanor had never seen humans before. He had been killed before the Edain had come tramping across the mountains. After this realization came the thought that her humanity would not save her, not in this case. The Elves had been told that Manwë was keeping them in Valinor so that Men could take over Middle-Earth. Fëanor would _hate_ her for that.

It was strange that Luthy had realized all these things after she had started writing a romantic story about Fëanor falling in love with her. Why, she wondered, couldn't she have realized it beforehand, and saved herself a lot of anxiety?

She could hear the murmuring of voices, and a moment later, she could make out the words of a conversation.

"Slow down," she could hear someone panting."My legs are shorter than yours."

"Well, none of us are going to carry you, so it would be best if you were stoic," said someone else, in slightly amused tones.

"Sauron? Stoic? Is he ever?" A new voice, this one obviously female.

"I'm more stoic than you are, Miss Cry-All-the-Time."

"Oh, be quiet. You are annoying Mandos."

"I don't see why we have to go galloping up seventeen flights of stairs in this manner," gasped the first voice.

"And _I _don't see why you have to keep on compl–-"

"He is near."

The three words, spoken with quiet assurance, brought a rapid end to the conversation. Luthy, cringing against her door, heard the soft swish of long robes, and a moment later, four... people turned the corner and came walking down the hallway towards her.

"A S.W.A.T team!" thought Luthy, with a relief that is hard to describe.

The four came to halt in front of her, and all gazed at her with interest. Then the tall, more friendly-looking man said, "Is Fëanor behind that door?"

"Yes," said Luthy, surprised that the man would know. "Who are you?"

"I am Lórien," said the man.

"I am Nienna," said the woman.

"I am Sauron," said the child, glaring at her as if daring her to disprove him. She saw his yellow eyes, and the thought of disproving him never occurred to her.

The fourth person did not introduce himself, but that was not necessary. Luthy knew that he had to be Mandos, since he was extremely tall and sinister.

Luthy stared at her four visitors, slack-jawed. First Fëanor, now the Valar! And the Dark Lord Sauron! She was not even dressed for the occasion! Should she offer them a sacrifice? Were there traditional words of greeting that should spoken on such a momentous occasion? Should she bow?

"We shall take care of your little problem," said Lórien cheerfully. "Never fear."

Mandos opened the door to her apartment and stepped inside.

TBC


	7. Fëanor and the Fëanturi

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for your reviews! Fëanor is back!

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_'Few ever changed his courses by counsel, none by force.' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Someone was knocking on the door to Ilmarin. Varda, who did not often get visitors, opened the door excitedly and was delighted to find Vairë standing on her doorstep. She was delighted to see Vairë, at least. She was startled to see that Vairë had a donkey and cart beside her. "Hello, Vairë," she said, determinedly ignoring the donkey. She thought it was rather a breach in protocol.

"Hello, Varda," said Vairë. Then she went on, in a rush, "Now that my career as a historian is ruined, Lórien suggested that I make carpets, and so I was wondering if you wanted a welcome mat."

"A welcome mat?" echoed Varda, bewildered.

Vairë went over to her cart, giving the donkey an absent-minded pat, and selected a welcome mat from the pile. It was blue. It said "WELCOME" on it in bright yellow thread. "Do you like this one?" she said. "I thought it would look pretty."

"Have you showed your welcome mats to anyone else?" asked Varda, wandering over to the cart, and examining the heap of samples.

"Yes," said Vairë. "I made one for Aulë, for him to put in front of his forge. He said he liked it. Oromë was out hunting, so I just left one on his doorstep. And I'm getting special waterproof threads for Ulmo. Estë put in an order for a pillow cover, and Vána wanted one with flowers."

"It sounds like you're getting a great deal of business," said Varda. "These mats are beautifully woven."

Vairë beamed proudly.

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" asked Varda. "I would greatly enjoy a chat with you."

"Thank you," said Vairë. "I do not get out of the Halls much, and I would love to have a cup of tea."

They strolled back into Ilmarin together, once Vairë had tied her donkey to a nearby tree.

* * *

Fëanor led a tortured existence. After all his trials and tribulations, he had died and spent a very long time in the Halls of Mandos. And after that, he had been given some hope that he was free of Mandos forever. 

And now Mandos was standing in the doorway glaring at him. (Did Mandos do anything but glare?) Fëanor, who was examining the items of hopelessly ill-crafted jewelry that he had found in the bedroom, saw that he had some slight advantage. Mandos did not like having a body. Fëanor loved having a body. So, possibly, Fëanor was the stronger one this time.

Without further ado, Fëanor put his theory to the test. He dropped the jewelry, took a short step forward, pivoted, and delivered an absolutely beautiful punch to the Vala's nose. Mandos staggered, clutching his injury, a perturbed (and pained) expression appearing momentarily on his face.

Fëanor was pleased. He _did_ have the advantage! The Elf was not sure where he was, but it was obviously not Valinor, or else Mandos would not have made use of a hröa. Therefore, there wasn't much of a chance that he could be hauled back to the Halls of Mandos.

Not immediately, at least.

Fëanor was about to grab Mandos by the throat (which would have greatly recompensed him for some of the time he had spent in the Halls) when he was tackled by Lórien. This was not fair. Two Valar should not be allowed to clobber one lone Elf.

"I don't suppose you are going to come willingly," said Lórien, as all three thrashed around on the floor.

"Never," snarled Fëanor, as Mandos tried to grind his face into the carpet.

Nienna, Luthy and Sauron were standing in the doorway, watching the scuffle. Sauron looked as if he was deriving too much enjoyment from seeing the three attempting to pulverize each other.

"Do you have any kind of restraint in this house?" Nienna asked Luthy.

"I have some duck tape," said Luthy obligingly. It was hard to be anything but obliging with a Vala. Not only that, but Luthy was still trying to figure out if gods in one world counted as gods in another world.

"Do you have any weapons?" asked Nienna.

"I guess so," said Luthy. She went to get some tape and her kitchen knife. As she entered the kitchen, she felt something dripping on her arm, and looking up, she saw that there was a wet spot on the ceiling. It seemed to have been caused by a violent soda-can explosion. Luthy frowned in puzzlement.

Someone was pounding on her wall and yelling at her to turn down the TV or be quiet, but Luthy ignored this as she rummaged through the kitchen drawers.

Nienna looked at her brothers again. They seemed to be getting the worst of it, strangely enough. Fëanor was used to fighting, and Mandos and Lórien were not. Certainly they were tall and strong, but they didn't have a clue of how to subdue an escapee from the Halls. They seemed to be adhering to the 'bash anything that moves' method. Nienna sighed. "Sauron, I hate to ask you this, but would you help them?"

"Me?" Sauron raised his eyebrows. In height, he only came up to Nienna's waist. He did not like the thought of getting crushed to death. Few people do.

"Try the werewolf approach," said Nienna. "It has worked before."

Sauron snapped, "It doesn't always work." A moment later, a large, ferocious puppy was standing beside the Vala, looking rabid.

A werewhelp. Nienna sniggered.

Sauron bounded across the room and began chewing Luthy's spare pair of shoes.

"Ahem," said Nienna firmly, pointing at Fëanor, who was knocking Lórien's head against the floor. Sauron wandered over, bit Fëanor's ankle and refused to let go. The scuffle became even more painful to watch. Certainly it was painful to participate in it.

Luthy returned, holding a roll of strange silvery stuff and a black-handled, serrated kitchen knife. "Here you are," said she.

"This is duck tape?" asked Nienna.

"Yes." Luthy tore off a small piece. "It's very strong, and it's sticky on one side."

"Interesting," said Nienna. She slipped the roll of tape around her wrist like a bracelet, put the knife between her teeth, waded over, and grabbed Fëanor by his long black hair with both hands. She yanked said hair as hard as she could. Being a Vala, this was quite hard.

Understandably, Fëanor gave a gasp of pain at this unexpected assault. Mandos, seizing his opportunity, somehow managed to get the Elf in an awkward headlock. Lórien took the knife Nienna was offering him and prodded Fëanor in the back with it. Sauron let go of Fëanor's ankle, and shifted into child-shape again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and scowling at Nienna like it was her fault he'd been kicked in the face.

"Surrender," said Lórien, trying to make use of the duck tape, but getting tangled in it instead. Such is the way of duck tape.

"No," said Fëanor, trying to kick the Vala in the face.

Swaying dizzily, Mandos got to his feet. Nienna assisted him to the bed, and he sat down on it thankfully. He kept on going cross-eyed, and blood from his injured nose was getting all over his imposing black robes.

"Please surrender, Curufinwë," said Nienna. "We do not want to hurt you."

Mandos and Lórien looked as though they would have _loved_ to hurt Fëanor, but they said nothing.

"First tell me where I am," demanded Fëanor, rising gracefully (the showoff!) "and what is going to happen to me."

"You are in a world called Earth," said Nienna. "It is populated by mortals. You were somehow summoned into a girl's apartment by a computer device. Mandos, Lórien and I are trying to find out how the computer device is wreaking havoc on the history of Middle-earth."

"If you cooperate with us," said Lórien, leaning against the wall and rubbing the back of his sore head, "then you can come along as we complete our mission. If you don't cooperate with us, then we shall leave you here, bound with this sticky stuff, until our mission is finished and we can all go back to Valinor."

Fëanor thought over this briefly. "If I'm helpful," he asked, "can I get out of the Halls early?"

Mandos snorted, and then winced, because his nose still hurt. "Nothing is going to get you out of my Halls early," he said darkly.

"But maybe Námo could improve your conditions a little," said Nienna, with an admonishing look at her brother.

"Maybe a little," agreed Mandos, with great reluctance.

"All right then," said Fëanor, just as reluctant as Mandos. "I shan't be troublesome."

Luthy looked confused, because she couldn't understand the Quenya that the others were speaking. She had learned some of the language, so that she could swear at tripe-writers in it, but she had not realized that Elves talk very fast, even when they are being reluctant. And Fëanor didn't speak English. She had wanted him to be true to life to a certain extent.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"We are leaving," said Mandos.

"Sorry if we inconvenienced you," said Lórien, glancing around Luthy's wrecked bedroom guiltily.

"No problem," said Luthy, who was quietly going into shock from the trauma of the past few minutes.

"Before we go," said Nienna, "could you write down something for us on your computer device?"

Luthy went and switched on her computer (which was the only electrical appliance in her apartment that Fëanor hadn't managed to turn on already). They waited for ten awkward minutes as it slowly got itself running. Then Luthy sat down and opened her writing program.

"_Fëanor had completely recovered from the loss of his Silmarils, and no longer hated the Valar_," dictated Nienna. Luthy carefully typed out this sentence.

Nienna looked at Fëanor covertly. He seemed more content, somehow. Content and bored with whatever the others were doing.

"Er... and could you write something about how no one was injured in any way in the fight in your bedroom?" asked Lórien hopefully.

_All wounds recently inflicted disappeared at once_, wrote Luthy.

Now everyone looked happier. Mandos was no longer slumped against Luthy's harp, Lórien's pupils were no longer dilated, Sauron had stoppedmassaging hisface and glaring, and Fëanor was beginning to smile a little.

"Why are you making me write this?" asked Luthy.

"Can't tell you," said Lórien. "It's classified information, Miss — what is your name, anyway?"

"I'm Lúthien Tinúviel," said Luthy, stupidly.

"And I am the Lady Galadriel," said Sauron, crossing his arms over his skinny chest and raising one dark eyebrow at her.

Nienna began coughing and couldn't stop.

Mandos nearly looked horrified and affronted. The first Lúthien he had met had certainly made a better impression on him than _this _female.

"You are an insult to the real Lúthien Tinúviel!" cried Sauron. He began muttering some sort of dangerous-sounding chant under his breath. Lórien grabbed him by the shoulder before he could turn into a werewolf again. He did not want the Maia to attempt to reenact certain scenes from his past.

"I think now is the time for the five of us to leave," said Nienna, who had recovered from her cough attack. "Come on, Fëanor," she added in Quenya, and rapidly headed for the door.

The others trooped after her, leaving Luthy sitting in front of her computer, collecting her scattered wits. She heard Sauron whining something about being hungry.

Then the door to her apartment snicked shut.

TBC


	8. The Bafflement of Harvey

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

To the wonderful reviewers: thank you! Your enthusiasm and encouragement means a lot to me.

_

* * *

_

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

_'"Sauron himself was overthrown, and Isildur cut the Ring from his hand with the hilt-shard of his father's sword, and took it for his own."' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Fellowship of the Ring'_

_A long time ago..._

_... in a galaxy far, far away_...

(well, not quite)

_...Legolas was sitting on a balcony in Minas Tirith, at night, staring up at the starry sky._

(It was one of the many things he was very good at.)

_It was nights like these that made him feel as though he were not alone, that he was being watched. Though it had been many years since his brief, unexpected trip into another World, he had not forgotten the terrible feeling of reality ripping, falling apart, and of tumbling through this tear, into another place. _

_He wondered if it would ever happen to him again, and he hoped not. It had been a horrific experience._

_Lady Nienna of the Aratar had promised that all would be explained in time. But time had passed, and there had been no explanations. Perhaps when he reached Valinor, she would tell him what had happened. Perhaps it was wrong of him to expect a vision that would clarify matters._

_He wanted to know what had happened to him. Why had he been chosen? Why had Nienna been there also? Where exactly had he landed? Who was the girl who had screamed at him, and made such strange signs to protect herself? Was she a wizard of some kind? He had seen two others: Lórien and Mandos. Was the presence of Mandos a warning of some unpleasant event to come? _

_Legolas wanted answers. _

_He would go to Valinor. It was his right. He had lingered in Middle-earth long enough. _

_Happy at having made a decision, Legolas got to his feet and left the balcony._

(Doom, doom, doom.)

* * *

"I'm hungry," whined Sauron for the sixteenth time. (Lórien had been counting.) 

They had walked down the many flights of stairs and left the building in which Luthy lived. Now they stood on the sidewalk and watched the cars zoom by. Fëanor was staring, wide-eyed, at everything. It was a great shock to him to see so many strange beings.

Mortals. He did not think much of them. They were pathetic little creatures. He could have fought more than a score of them, all by himself, blindfolded, with one hand tied behind his back, and still beaten them all, Fëanor thought.

"What are we going to do now?" Nienna asked Mandos. "We don't seem to have learned much, except that whatever these people put in their computers comes true. I do not understand that."

"The computer devices must be filled with an evil power," said Lórien.

"Hah. You keep on saying that," snapped Nienna. "I think it is the people with the evil power. We can write things in the computer, and nothing comes about. And then they write it, and it happens."

Mandos nodded, agreeing with Nienna. Nienna grinned triumphantly at her little brother.

"I'm hungry," whined Sauron, interrupting this tender siblingish moment.

"Seventeen," thought Lórien grimly.

"Well then," said Nienna, "we should go and find something to eat. Can't have the little Dark Lord starve to death, can we?"

Sauron, sensing the Vala's sarcasm, wisely decided to say nothing.

They walked down the sidewalk. Fëanor was happy to have a body again, but the air he breathed was not as fresh as he remembered. The dangerous machines that whizzed back and forth along the roads were smelly. And the mortal's clothes were very strange and ugly, like the mortals themselves.

"When I get home," said Sauron, "and regain control of Middle-earth – which shouldn't take long, I might add– I shall invent one of those moving metal things."

"A car?" asked Lórien, who, being of the Valar, knew these sorts of things.

"Yes. Cars. Except I'll make them bigger," said Sauron. "They can pull my various war machinery. Look how fast they can go!"

It was probably because of his comments that the Valar started walking more quickly, and Sauron began to fall behind. Soon he was next to Fëanor, a fact that made him nervous. His memories of Fëanor were not pleasant. He had once been working in Aulë's forge, pretending to be the innocent, industrious Maia he had been before he met Melkor, and Fëanor, very young at the time, had bitten him. Things had gone downhill from there. It is hard to seem innocent and industrious when one is hopping around, trying to get an Elfling to detach his teeth from one's leg, yelling, "Melkor take you, you savage!"

Aulë had investigated the matter. He had given his Maia a lengthy lecture about how Melkor had misled him and he had been forgiven for his wrongdoing, and that if he wanted to stay in Valinor, he had to treat the poor Elves better. "Melkor has repented," Aulë had finished. "You should repent too."

Sauron, thinking back to this, couldn't help but smirk contemptuously. Melkor had repented? Nonsense! Melkor never repented. The Valar had been idiots to believe him, and Nienna had been particularly idiotic, because she had actually vouched for him.

Sauron glanced at Mandos. He wondered if Mandos had believed Melkor when he had come to Manwë, groveling and apologetic. Mandos never voiced his opinions unless Manwë asked him to do so, and he had stayed silent during that trial. If he had spoken, he probably would have made some reference to doom, in which case, he would have been entirely correct once again.

All things end in doom.

"There!" cried Sauron. "That place sells food!" He pointed at a small building with large glass windows. Someone was leaving, holding a large, flat box. There was a strange smell in the air, but it was unmistakably the smell of edible things.

They cautiously entered the building. There was a tile floor, and a counter, behind which a man was standing. He was wearing a peculiar kind of hat on his head. Behind the counter, on the wall, there were pictures of food with numbers beside them. There were some tables and chairs on the other side of the room.

"Does this place sell food?" asked Lórien.

The man was looking at the five strangely. "Yes," he replied slowly.

"What sort of food?" asked Sauron.

"Pizza," said the man.

Sauron pulled out the piece of paper money from his tea-cozy. "Will this buy us pizza?" he asked, waving it in front of the man's nose.

"Yes," said the man. He was looking more and more uneasy.

"Good," said Sauron. He looked at the pictures of the food. The pizza food. It appeared rather... interesting. There was lots of red stuff on it. And white stuff. And flat circles of a rusty colored something. Meat? Roast Orc was more appetizing. Sauron pointed at the pizza that didn't have the circles on it. "I want that," he said. "Three of that."

"OK," said the man, whose name was Harvey. "Would you like something to drink?"

Sauron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What drinks do you sell?"

Harvey rattled off a lengthy list, warily eyeing the child and the four adults. The woman was absolutely gorgeous, and two of the men bore some familial resemblance to her. But the fourth man was different. He had long thick black hair, with ropes of gold braided intricately into it. His robes were beautifully embroidered and bejeweled. Not to mention, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and one eyebrow raised menacingly and was practically _sneering_ at Harvey.

These sort of people did not often drop by to purchase some pizza.

Actually, they never had.

"Do you sell water?" asked the man in blue.

"Um... yes, we do," replied Harvey, snapping out of his thoughts.

"We would like some water, then," said the man.

"_They_ want water," said the child, waving a dismissive hand in their direction. "I want some of this so-called 'root beer'."

"All right," said Harvey, entering this information into his computer. He got a cup and went to the soda machine, pressed the button, and filled the cup with the drink. At this simple, ordinary occurrence, all five of the customers leaned forward, craning their necks to see what he was doing.

Harvey was beginning to think that he had entered the Twilight Zone. "It'll take about twenty minutes for your pizzas to be cooked," he said. He named the price of the food, and the child handed him the money.

The child only had four fingers.

Harvey stared at the poor, maimed hand, bug-eyed. "Your finger..." he began.

"Is missing. Yes, I know," said the child.

Harvey picked up the money and started counting out the change. "But how? What happened?"

"Horrific incident with a chopping knife," said the woman, patting the boy on the shoulder.

"Oh, I'm so sorry..."

"We're not," said the woman cryptically. She took the change and the five went to a table and sat down, Harvey staring at them in disbelief.

* * *

"Perhaps I have been terribly misinformed," said Sauron, speaking in Quenya for Fëanor's benefit, "but are you not supposed to be sympathetic, Nienna?" 

"Yes," said Nienna. "And I'm also supposed to be crying all the time. As you can see, I am not."

"Anyway, you must realize that had Isildur not chopped off your finger, the whole free world would have been enslaved." (This was Lórien's wise contribution to the discussion.)

"And how is that a bad thing?" asked Sauron reasonably. "Do you think I wanted the whole free world to be having fun or something? I was _trying_ to enslave them all."

("Noble goal," murmured Nienna.)

"Isildur attacked me in a very sneaky, unfair way."

"You had just killed his father," said Lórien.

"Trees of Valinor, it was a war!" cried Sauron. "Should I have poked him with a stick instead? Or maybe we could have tossed a coin to see who would take over Middle-earth. That would have made everyone happy, wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps you would have been happier if Isildur had poked you with a stick," said Nienna.

Sauron glared.

"Well, as you said, it was a war," said Nienna mildly. Sauron was thwarted by his own logic. That was a problem with being ten years old.

Fëanor had been listening to the conversation with interest. Melkor had been defeated, but apparently Sauron had tried to take over Middle-earth in his place. He realized that he had missed quite a lot since his death.

"When the Valar defeated Melkor, what happened to him?" Fëanor asked suddenly, with a nod in Sauron's direction.

"He went and apologized to Eönwë," said Lórien.

Sauron squirmed on his chair.

"And then?"

"He refused to return to Valinor, and ran off somewhere."

"Do you think that I wanted to be hauled back to Valinor for judgement?" demanded Sauron hotly. "Do you think I _enjoyed _being Aulë's humble little Maia?"

("Sauron prefers making jewelry," said Nienna under her breath.)

("You don't know how many times I've heard that before," said Sauron under his.)

The Maia decided it was time for a change in subject. He pulled out his tea-cozy and slammed _The Lord of the Rings_ and _The Silmarillion_ on the table. The Valar jumped nervously. "Would you explain why we wanted these?"

TBC


	9. Round Bread with Sauce

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing!

**

* * *

**

**CHAPTER NINE**

_'But the Temple itself was unshaken, and Sauron stood there upon the pinnacle and defied the lightning and was unharmed.' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

"Who wants to try the first piece?" asked Lórien, staring at the pizza.

It was large and circular and came in a box made out of some sort of thick brown paper. It had been cut into ten slices. Sauron had ordered three of these things. The math was simple: they each could eat six pieces.

Fëanor looked at the four others, who were gawking at the pizza as though it might suddenly attack them. The problem with Valar was that they never seized the initiative. He sighed. "I shall try it," he said.

"Here's some stuff to sprinkle on it," said Sauron helpfully, passing Fëanor three cylindrical containers. Each container was made of clear material, and had a lid with holes in the top. One container was full of white power, one container was full of pieces of green herbs, and the last container was full of crushed peppers.

Fëanor gingerly picked up a slice of the pizza (it was hot), and put it on the flimsy paper serviette. He sprinkled some of the green herbs on top. Everyone watched as he lifted up the floppy food and nibbled on the pointed end.

"Is it good?" asked Lórien.

"What is it made of?" asked Nienna.

"It is some kind of bread," said Fëanor. "There is a sauce on it, of a kind that I have never before tasted."

"What's the white stuff?" asked Sauron.

"I think it's some form of dairy product," said Fëanor.

"You mean it's from a cow?" asked Sauron. "That's disgusting."

"Only when one thinks about it," said Lórien.

"Which is true of a lot of things," said Nienna.

"What about the red stuff?"

"I have no idea."

"Mandos, do you know what the red sauce is made of?" asked Nienna.

Mandos shook his head.

"Well, it doesn't matter, because I'm starving," said Sauron. "Cut me a slice."

Nienna passed him a slice, and took one for herself. Tasting it, she decided that it was fairly good. Strange and foreign, but not too horrible. She could eat it. Lórien was still staring at his slice doubtfully, and Mandos was stoically choking down his own portion.

Sauron poured some peppers on his piece of pizza and began to rapidly devour it. "Mmm, this is good," he said.

"Is that why you're crying?" asked Nienna, daintily sprinkling some of the white powder onto her slice of pizza.

"I like spicy food," said Sauron, coughing. He drank some of his root beer. "If you think this 'pizza' is bad, you should have seen some of the things I've had to eat in my career."

"I hope you are not going to tell us anything that would put us off our food," said Nienna.

"I wouldn't do something like that," said Sauron, chewing."Orcs make awful cooks, I'll have you know, and even worse meals."

"You've _eaten_ Orcs?" asked Fëanor, fascinated.

"You've eaten _Orcs_?" asked Lórien, at the same time.

"A few," said Sauron. The Maia tried to look as nonchalant as he could with tears streaming down his face. (He decided not to put so many hot red peppers on his next slice of pizza. It was too humiliating.) "And I've eaten some other things," he added, mysteriously.

The other four realized that this was the perfect moment to get some insight into the mind of a Dark Lord.

"What exactly are Orcs good for?" asked Nienna curiously.

"Not much," growled Sauron. "They make good minions, and that's about it. When confronted by even minor odds, they die in ridiculous numbers. I have to make my own clothes, because if I give them a needle and thread they try to stick it through the Orc closest to them. And I have to prepare my own meals, since theyeat their food raw and I do not."

"What tribulations you suffer," said Fëanor, who could be just as sarcastic as the Valar.

"I'm thinking of adding a few humans to my personal staff," said Sauron reflectively, ignoring the Elf.

Lórien had a question of his own. "Why did you make _Rings_ of Power?" he asked.

"I considered making Lucky Horseshoes of Power, but I thought they would be too hard to conceal," said Sauron, who could be just as sarcastic as Fëanor.

"True," said Nienna. "And what's the point of corrupting horses?"

Sauron smiled, unfazed by Nienna's comment. "I suppose I could have nailed the Lucky Horseshoes on human volunteers. Pity that the idea never occurred to me."

There was silence for a time. Large quantities of pizza were devoured. Eventually Lórien spoke.

"For your information," he told Sauron, "the next time you stand in the ruins of your temple in a storm and taunt us, we are going to smite you with a lightning bolt."

"Maybe four or five lightning bolts, just to be sure," said Nienna.

Sauron licked his fingers clean and began eating his fifth slice of pizza. "Am I supposed to be alarmed by this threat?" he asked. "You know that Manwë does not condone violence."

"We have convinced him that lightning bolts are a very non-violent way of killing someone," said Nienna.

"'Quick and clean' was the way we phrased it," said Lórien.

"Perhaps the next time I shall taunt you on a sunny day," Sauron said. "What will you do then?"

"Have you ever heard of the phrase 'out of the blue'?" asked Nienna.

"I think you are bluffing," said Sauron.

"You could try taunting us now," said Lórien threateningly.

Sauron shook his head. "I do my taunting best on an empty stomach, and it helps to have an admiring audience."

"It is high time that we discussed something different," said Mandos from his corner, having finished eating his ration of pizza.

The others quieted, though Fëanor shot Mandos a black look. He was not fond of Mandos.

"The people of this World have a strong influence on our World," said Mandos. "Any guesses as to why and how?"

"I think it's the computer device that is doing it," said Lórien.

"It's the people," said Nienna. "We know it's the people."

"At least they haven't affected Valinor," said Lórien, resigning himself to Nienna's theory.

Nienna nodded. "Yes, Valinor is normal."

"Perhaps Valinor is not the way it should be," said Mandos. "How would we know?"

Lórien and Nienna looked worried.

"Perhaps the people created you," said Fëanor mildly. "Perhaps you are only the product of their imaginations."

"What?" gasped Nienna. "How dare you suggest such a thing!"

Sauron had the books open. "The first part of _The Lord of the Rings_ was copyrighted in the year 1954," he said. "And _The Silmarillion_ was copyrighted in 1977."

"What year is it now?" asked Lórien. "Sauron, go to the counter and ask that man who's been staring at us the whole time."

"I'll sound crazy," muttered Sauron, but he got up and went over to the counter. He returned in a moment. "It's the year 2005," he said.

"No wonder this is such a backward place," said Nienna. "They've only been around for two thousand years!"

"It could be their sixth or seventh Age," said Lórien. "Go and ask the man what Age it is, Sauron."

"No," said Sauron. "He already thinks I'm loony."

"So only about fifty Earth years have passed since our history was first recorded," said Nienna.

"Wait a moment. Does this mean that Jarr Tolkien is Ilúvatar?" asked Sauron, staring at the front cover of _The Lord of the Rings_.

"It's Jrr, not Jarr," said Lórien.

"Well, I don't know how to pronounce 'jrr'," said Sauron.

"He's not Ilúvatar. He can't be," said Lórien with no realistic conviction.

"It does not matter anyway," said Nienna piously. "We can never know Ilúvatar's mind, so we can never know if He is Jrr Tolkien."

"I think you Valar invented the concept of Ilúvatar," said Fëanor, sulking.

The Valar ignored this blasphemous comment, though Mandos mentally added a few thousand years to Fëanor's sentence. Then he said, "When our history was first created, everything happened the way it was supposed to happen."

"And then teenage girls took over!" said Nienna, becoming enlightened. "Now I understand!"

"When do the books end?" asked Lórien.

Sauron turned to the end of the book. "There's lots of Appendixes," he said.

"You're getting sticky red fingerprints on the book, Sauron," remarked Lórien.

"Oh horrors," said Sauron, who didn't care.

After a moment he added, "Here's a time line!"

"Perfect,"chorused Nienna and Lórien together.

"Here is the very last entry on the time line," said Sauron, and began to read it aloud. "Year 1541 of the Shire Calender: _In this year Fourth Age (Gondor) 120 on March First came the Passing of King Elessar. It is said that the beds of Meriadoc and Peregrin were set beside the bed of the great king. Then Legolas built a grey ship in Ithilien and sailed down Anduin and so over Sea; and with him, it is said, went Gimli the Dwarf. And when that ship had passed an end was come in Middle-earth of the Fellowship of the Ring_1. How touching," the Maia added, shutting the book.

"Remember what Manwë said?" asked Nienna excitedly. "He said that history looped around each time Legolas set sail for Valinor."

"That's because, at that point, history ends!" cried Lórien.

"Who is this Legolas, anyway?" asked Fëanor.

"My pizza has gotten cold," said Sauron mournfully.

"You're ruining our moment of triumph," said Nienna, sipping the last of her water.

"What should we do now?" asked Lórien.

"We shall return to the library," said Mandos. "There were many computer devices in the library. We can find someone who will write something for us."

"What will we write?"

Mandos looked thoughtful. Then he said, "We shall make history safe for the inhabitants of Middle-earth. Somehow."

When Fëanor wasn't looking, Sauron stole the last slice of pizza.

**TBC...**

1_The Return of the King_, by J. R. R. Tolkien, closing lines of Appendix B


	10. Introducing Jennifer and Sons

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _Discworld, or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing!

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**CHAPTER TEN**

_'Vairë the Weaver is his spouse, who weaves all things that have ever been in Time into her storied webs...' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

For the past twenty minutes, Vairë had been complaining about Mandos. About how she couldn't get him to wear anything but black. About how quiet and moody he was all the time. About how he was the least romantic Vala in existence. About how he had forgotten to bring her flowers on their wedding anniversary.

"Women like a man who can make them laugh," said Vairë, stirring her third cup of tea with the sugar spoon. (Varda sipped her tea and ignored this lack of etiquette, reminding herself that Vairë didn't get out of the Halls much.) "Mandos has never told a joke in his life," finished Vairë. She slammed the sugar spoon down on the table. "It's so depressing!" she wailed.

Varda, who had a perfect husband, was undergoing the extreme temptation to brag about him, but, being a kind and noble Vala, she decided to change the subject instead. "Do you spend all your time weaving?" she asked.

"Yes," snarled Vairë. "I don't think people realize how hard I have to work! The rest of you get fun jobs, but all I do is weave and weave and weave. And I'm always having to go back and rip parts out, and redo bits and make everything accurate. And then I found out it doesn't even matter!"

"At least you tried," murmured Varda.

"That's not the point," snapped Vairë. "I've been trying to keep up with history, and it's been double-crossing me!"

A thought occurred to Varda. "Are _you_ the one making history?" she asked. "Or are you just _recording_ it?"

"It's more a matter of give and take," said Vairë. "It happens, and I record it, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she rubbed her finger along the top of her teacup. More bad etiquette. "It's impossible to explain, really," she muttered.

"Nienna told me that you shredded your old tapestries," said Varda. "Does that mean that now parts of history have never happened?"

"I suppose so," replied Vairë, nodding.

"Well, that's not good," said Varda, horrified. "Now the people of Middle-earth have big gaps in their lives!"

Vairë looked worried for a moment. Then she said, "Doesn't matter. I hate them anyway."

* * *

Jennifer was a calm and placid woman, which was a very good thing. Had she not been calm and placid, her sanity would have been the first casualty of her motherhood. (The first casualty of Jennifer's motherhood was, in fact, her goldfish, Ophelia, but that is a completely different story.) Once she had given birth to two sons (Benny and Sammy), they seemed intent on driving her stark staring mad. 

That Saturday morning, Jennifer was reading a book (_Reaper Man _by Terry Pratchett) while valiantly ignoring the sounds of Benny trying to stuff worms down Sammy's throat. Jennifer had a theory that worms wouldn't do Sammy much harm, since he ate all sorts of other things that were supposed to be inedible, so she did not feel the need to intervene. However, Jennifer became mildly worried when she saw five year-old Benny chasing the screaming three year-old Sammy through the house, waving a gardening trowel.

She took a deep breath and stood up. "Benny, Sammy, be quiet this instant," she snapped. She closed her book, marking the spot with a paper napkin. "How did they come to be instilled with such violent habits?" she muttered to herself. She was sure that she was raising them correctly, and yet they insisted on behaving like little savages.

Sammy said something garbled and incoherent, which sounded like some sort of accusation. This assessment of Jennifer's was bolstered by the fact that he was also pointing at Benny, who looked very rebellious and unrepentant.

"I am taking you to the library," decided Jennifer aloud.

"Why?" asked Benny.

"Because an hour of reading will do you both good. Bring Mummy your shoes, Sammy."

Benny dropped the gardening trowel on the kitchen floor and stomped off, while Sammy sat down on the floor and whimpered. Jennifer sighed, and resigned herself to her fate.

* * *

When Mrs. Tey, the head librarian, arrived at the library to unlock the doors, she found a group of people sleeping in a bush outside it. Much perplexed, and somewhat annoyed, she halted and glared down at them. 

They were three men, one woman, and one small boy, clearly foreigners. That much information could easily be derived simply from the unusual clothing they wore. And Mrs. Tey did not think anyone in this neighborhood would sleep outside the library.

The child was waking up. His amber eyes flickered open and he smiled guilelessly at her. "Good morning, ma'am," he said. Mrs. Tey stared at him. There was something not quite right about the little boy, but she could not place it.

"Have you been loitering here?" asked Mrs. Tey severely.

"No. Just sleeping," said the boy.

Mrs. Tey did not reply to that, because she was not sure what to say, so, with a nod in the direction of the others, she asked, "Are any of these people related to you?" The librarian did not know if she would be relieved to learn they were the boy's relations, or if she would feel the need to telephone the authorities. (She did not think they were being very good role-models.)

"Them?" The boy smirked at the thought, a smirk that was rather disturbing. "They are no relatives of mine, but they're looking after me for the moment."

"They do not seem to be doing a very good job of it," said Mrs. Tey, straightening her spectacles. She gave one of the sleeping men a firm nudge with her foot, and he rolled over and stiffened, finding himself suddenly staring up into Mrs. Tey's stony face and gimlet eyes. The librarian took a step back, and the man sat up, prodding the others into wakefulness.

"You, sir," said Mrs. Tey, "are breaking the law."

The man shrugged, obviously not alarmed by her statement.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" demanded Mrs. Tey.

The man frowned at her.

"Speak up. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing," said the man slowly and clearly, with so much ice in his voice that Mrs. Tey's heart nearly froze.

"Well, _she_ certainly got you to talk, Mandos," said the woman, who was rubbing her eyes and pulling her hair away from her face. "Say something comforting, before she goes into shock."

The man shrugged again, this time awkwardly, then turned to Mrs. Tey. "I have nothing to say for myself," he said. "I have been sleeping in this Eru-forsaken bush for most of the night. It was not comfortable. When I was not sleeping in a bush, I was alluding certain deluded police officers, who seemed to think I belonged to an illegal cult. I do not. I am still tired from my escapades, I have sprained my ankle, and I am not feeling very cheery this morning. You will have to forgive me for not being obligingly happy about all this."

Oddly enough, Mrs. Tey noticed, the other four were staring at the man with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"Mandos," stuttered the man in blue, "you– you–"

"Dear Ilúvatar, the world is ending," murmured the child, running his fingers through his spiky hair and shaking his head.

The one called Mandos stood up, and the others scrambled to their feet after him. "I hate this world," he snapped. "I hate this body, and I hate having to speak. Open the library door."

"Please," whispered the woman faintly.

"Please," said Mandos, glaring.

Mrs. Tey opened the library door with much fear and trembling, and Mandos swept past her, limping slightly. His entourage followed quietly, though the man with gold woven into his raven hair gave Mrs. Tey a vaguely condescending look as he glided past her.

Mrs. Tey entered the library, shut the door behind her, and wobbled to her desk, feeling strangely shaken.

* * *

"Námo, dear, are you feeling unwell?" asked Nienna carefully, as her brother sat down in a chair at a reading desk. 

Mandos shook his head.

He had told Mrs. Tey no lies. The Valar, Elf, and Maia had spent their night busily. An innocent walk to the library had turned into a dramatic chase as a police officer had attempted to apprehend them, apparently thinking that they belonged to an illegal cult and were brainwashing Sauron. Sauron had not been helpful, to say the least. Mandos had been forced to carry him (i.e. haul the struggling child down an alleyway), which had resulted in Mandos spraining his ankle.

They had made it to the library without being arrested, only to discover it was locked, and, unable to go elsewhere, they had gone to sleep in the bushes (after silencing Sauron, who had suggested that they smash a library window and get in that way). Lórien had no trouble with sleeping in unpleasant places, but the others had not had such an easy time of it.

"So this is the library," said Fëanor. "It doesn't look very interesting."

Sauron smiled, his rather sharp teeth making the friendly expression an eerie one instead. "Let me show you some fascinating devices, my good Elf," he said, catching Fëanor's arm and dragging him over to the rows of computers.

"They should be happy now," said Nienna, watching them go with narrowed eyes. She thought it was rather risky to let Fëanor and Sauron interact with each other.

"I'm going to the Kiddie Korner, to get more rest," said Lórien, and departed.

"Are you sure you're all right?" asked Nienna. She had never heard Mandos say so much at once, except for his prophecy to the fleeing Noldor.

Mandos gave a short, sharp nod, and glared into the distance.

"I can get some money from Sauron and buy you something nice to eat," offered Nienna.

Mandos shook his head. "No, thank you," he said stiffly.

"It's this world that's doing it, isn't it?" said Nienna. "We don't have our abilities any more. I haven't been crying, and you don't know the future. And we can't get out of these bodies."

"We need to leave," said Mandos. "But first we have to save Middle-earth."

At that moment, Jennifer, mild-mannered mother of two, stepped into the library, dragging her reluctant sons behind her.

**TBC...**


	11. Maiar and Mayhem

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you all for reviewing! Every one of your comments means a lot to me!

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**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

_'All flowers spring as she passes and open if she glances upon them; and all birds sing at her coming.' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion_

Perhaps she would not have done it, had it not been for Oromë . Had it not been for the lack of Oromë, that is. Vána had watched him go riding forth on his hunts day after day, and the repetition of the event had not softened its blow. It was clear to her that Oromë preferred_ killing animals _over spending time with his wife. How insulting.

The next thing Vána realized was that she had no purpose. The flowers and birds liked her, but she didn't really do anything. She had no career, no specific talent, and she was not particularly memorable. This knowledge made Vána depressed.

The final straw was when Vána's handmaiden, Melian, scarpered off to Middle-earth, to marry an Elf, help rule an Elven realm, and give birth to the most beautiful Elf-woman in history. Vána was furious, and when Melian came creeping home, her husband murdered, Vána did not exactly offer the Maia her warmest condolences.

The Vala decided that she needed to create a fanbase for herself, and it ended up being incredibly easy. Girls in several universes, girls who wanted to be more beautiful, more talented, and more in touch with nature, were eager for Vána's help. And she helped, all right.

Any girl who had visited Middle-earth and seduced one (or more) of its inhabitants, owed it all to Vána. They could not have done it without her.

Nor could Vána have done it without the help of another disgruntled Vala: none other than Vairë. Vairë, with her ability to assist the rewriting of history, had made it much simpler for girls to enter Middle-earth and wreak havoc there.

"How went the tea party?" asked Vána. She was braiding flowers into her hair with careless abandon. It was rather spiteful of her: Oromë was allergic to them.

"I think Varda liked the donkey," said Vairë.

"Did she take a welcome mat?" asked Vána.

Vairë nodded. "She was very admiring of them!"

"That's great," said Vána, with some condescension. "By the way, I hate to critique your style, but your act of righteous rage was a bit overdone, in my opinion. You shredded an awful lot of your old work."

"It wasn't completely an act," said Vairë ominously.

"How's history coming along?" asked Vána, changing the subject.

"Well enough," said Vairë. "I wish I could see what Námo was doing in that other world. But the history of Middle-earth is completely under control. It should start looping again at any moment."

"Wonderful," said Vána. "The waiting list is full, you know. Seven girls for Legolas (they can each have him for a few hundred years), four for Haldir, three for Faramir (if possible– we'll see how that turns out), two for Aragorn (it's harder to pack girls into a mortal's life span, even if he is one of the Dúnedain), two for Elrond, two for Glorfindel, one for Thranduil, one for Celeborn, one for Éomer, one for–"

"I get the idea," said Vairë. She envisioned lots of weaving in her future. "What about Mandos?"

"What about him?" asked Vána mildly.

"What if he finds out that _I'm_ the one reweaving history?" asked Vairë, her eyes widening with panic.

"What would he do?" asked Vána. "What does he do if he's angry or upset?"

"Nothing," said Vairë.

"Exactly."

* * *

Jennifer wrote fanfiction. Humorous fanfiction. It helped her get through life with her sanity intact. Her sons were flooding the kitchen: she wrote humorous fanfiction. Her husband was stuck under the kitchen sink, trying desperately to fix it: she wrote humorous fanfiction. Her mother-in-law showed up with handmade teddy bears for the grandchildren, waded through the flooded kitchen and decided that Jennifer was not rearing her sons properly: she wrote humorous fanfiction. 

On days when Jennifer felt her nervous breakdown coming on, she wrote humorous fanfiction until her fingers nearly hurt from typing.

She never let anyone see what she wrote. It was private. Writing it made her feel better, and afterwards she could be a good mother again and not be so tempted to scrag her sons.

Jennifer was planning to check her e-mails on the library computer, while her sons improved their minds by reading books, but when she took Benny and Sammy to the Kiddie Korner, she found a strange man sleeping there, sprawled across several beanbag chairs. Jennifer did not think that this was a good environment for her children. She pulled two books off the shelves at random, handed them to the boys, and went back to the computers, holding Sammy's hand so he wouldn't escape.

"Sit down next to Mummy's chair, Sammy," said Jennifer, who had a habit of speaking about herself in third-person. "Read your book. You too, Benny."

It was an early Saturday morning, and yet there were already other people using the computers. A tall, oddly dressed man, and a black-haired boy were chattering away to each other in a foreign language, and thumping at the keyboard, seeming excited with the results. Honestly, had they never seen a computer before? Jennifer sighed and shook her head world-wearily.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Jennifer looked up. A woman was standing beside her chair, smiling pleasantly and holding Sammy and his book. "Is this one yours?" she asked in a strangely accented voice. "I found him in the Young Adult Section."

"Oh yes, that's Sammy," said Jennifer. She took him from the woman. "Thank you very much."

"You are welcome." The woman didn't leave. For a moment, she just stood there, looking at Jennifer, and then she said, "Do you write stories about... an Elf? His name is Legolas."

Jennifer gaped at this question, and then said, "No, I don't write stories about Legolas. I write stories about the hobbits."

"Which hobbits?"

"Oh, all of them," said Jennifer, with a vague wave of her hand. "Merry, Pippin, Sam, and, of course, Frodo." She smiled dreamily.

"You," said the woman, "are perfect."

Jennifer did not know what to say. She was flattered.

"Wait one moment," murmured the woman. "Sauron, Fëanor," she hissed at the two, and when she had their attention, she said something rapidly in the foreign language. They nodded, and came over to Jennifer's side.

"Greetings," said the boy. "I hear you write about the halflings."

Jennifer nodded.

"Are you so deluded? Do you not realize that they are cunning and deceitful creatures?"

"They're cute," said Jennifer.

The boy rolled his eyes. "But they–" he began loudly, and the woman shushed him.

"You'll have to forgive Sauron," she said. "He's still bitter about what Frodo did to him." Then, to Sauron, "I've sent Fëanor to get Lórien. Would you find Mandos for me?"

Sauron nodded and hurried off.

Jennifer began to realize why the names of these people sounded so familiar. Sauron was the Lord of the Rings. Fëanor was that Elf who'd made the silmarils. Lórien and Mandos were Valar.

"Imagine being called Sauron!" said Jennifer to herself.

"Well," said the other woman, "the Elves weren't very fond of him, you know."

Jennifer smirked. "And what's your name? Arwen?"

"No. It's Nienna," said the woman calmly. "You seem to think that we are mortals like yourself. You are wrong."

Sauron stuck his head out around a bookshelf. "I've found Mandos," he said, "but Mandos has found the Non-fiction Section. I need some help extracting him."

"Excuse me a minute," said Nienna, and walked purposefully to where Sauron was now lounging against the shelves, nonchalantly holding a book. She disappeared around the corner. When she reappeared, she was leading a man by the sleeve of his ink-black robe. This was necessary because the man was reading from a very thick volume with minuscule print, and never once took his eyes off the page.

Fëanor appeared, dragging the man from the Kiddie Korner behind him. Both of them looked annoyed.

"This woman will help us," said Nienna. "She writes about Middle-earth. Sauron, we have work to do, so would you entertain her children for us?"

"What?" exploded Sauron, in the Dark-Lord-version of righteous indignation. "I, the Lord of the Earth, _entertaining children_?"

"You aren't the Lord of the Earth any more," said Lórien. "Sorry."

Jennifer looked a bit worried. She was thinking: 'A _Dark Lord_, looking after my two darling little boys!"

"Don't worry," said Nienna. "He won't hurt them."

This was not a very reassuring comment. Jennifer wondered why.

* * *

Sauron was sitting on a blue beanbag chair in the Kiddie Korner, asking Eru what he had done to deserve such a fate. The answer was pretty obvious. About fifteen or twenty good reasons for Eru to make Sauron suffer came readily to mind. 

"I don't like you," said Benny, throwing a building block at the Dark Lord's head. Sauron didn't even duck. The child had terrible aim.

"Don't get too smug, snot-face," said Sauron. "Not liking me doesn't make you very unique, you know."

Calling young innocents 'snot-face' would probably not work in Sauron's favor, he realized. Eru would hate that. And when Eru got mad... bad things happened. Sauron decided to try to be a little nicer. If possible. If these brats weren't too annoying.

"Would you like to play a game?" he asked, standing up and scowling down at them. 'Benny' and 'Sammy'. Bah. Who had named the poor things?

"No!" shouted Sammy. "I don't like you!"

"What makes you think I care?" demanded Sauron. He stacked up a number of beanbags in a circle, caught Sammy, and put the shrieking toddler in the center. Sauron hoped he wouldn't be able to get out too quickly.

The moment the Maia turned his back on him, Benny dashed out of the Kiddie Korner and began running for his mother. Sauron dashed after him, his handmade robes flapping. He grabbed Benny's slimy hands and began dragging the five year-old back to the Korner.

"Help me!" yelled Benny.

"Curse you, you're heavy," muttered Sauron. The self-styled Lord of the Earth was small for his new age (it came with being 'nonthreatening'), and Benny was rather burly. Benny was also thrashing about frantically, and Sauron was having a hard time holding onto him. Eventually Benny managed to elbow the Maia sharply in the stomach, which, to Sauron's everlasting shame, sent him flying backwards, winded. He landed on the floor and glared after Benny, who was running to his mother as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him.

Then Mrs. Tey came looming out of nowhere, in much the fashion of Mandos, and Benny ground to a halt. "Do _not_ run in the library," snarled Mrs. Tey.

Benny cringed.

Sauron scrambled to his feet. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, remembering his manners. It usually paid off to seem fair and wise. It had worked with the Elves. "Benny," he said, with a dark look at the child, "has been misbehaving."

"Are you looking after him?" demanded Mrs. Tey.

"Yes, ma'am," said Sauron, looking responsible. "At least, I'm trying to, ma'am. Thank you for stopping him, ma'am." Maybe he was overdoing this. "Come on, Benny," he concluded.

Benny, who had been suitably chastened by the head librarian, followed after Sauron meekly. As for the Maia, he didn't start storming through the library until he was out of Mrs. Tey's line of vision. Then he stormed in a very satisfying way. It felt good.

He came to the Kiddie Korner, loathing the very sight of it. Sammy was gone. Valar, that was predictable. Sauron swore –in Black Speech, which also felt good– and then said, very firmly, "Benny, stay here."

"No," said Benny, who hadn't learned his lesson.

Sauron knew that when niceness failed to persuade little brats, intimidation worked just as well, if not better. "Stay here," he snarled at Benny, pointing to a bean-bag chair.

"Stay here," mimicked Benny, stupidly unafraid.

Sauron decided to stop going easy on the little fiend. He brought his face very close to Benny's, widened his yellowish, catlike eyes, letting his spiky hair rise a little on his head, and growled, in his most ferocious voice, "Stay, or I'll claw your nasty little eyeballs out." Benny stared at him in dumbfounded shock, too frightened to cry, and Sauron set off to find Sammy.

Sammy was eating a book in the Sci-Fi Section. Sauron, feeling fed-up and impatient, snatched it from him squelchily (it was soggy), rammed it back onto the shelf, picked up the wailing Sammy, swaying under his weight, and wobbled back to the Kiddie Korner.

On his way there, Sauron passed a shelf, and a title caught his eyes and held them. _Harry Potter_. It hadn't been 'hairy' anything, after all. Trust the Valar to hear it wrong.

Holding Sammy with one hand (Sammy was trying to pull Sauron's hair out and eat it, which hurt), Sauron slid one of the Harry Potter books off the shelf. There was a picture of a boy on the front, holding a stick and looking half-annoyed and half-scared-witless. "Hmm," said Sauron. He hoped he didn't look anything like that.

Sammy was yelling "hate you, hate you" in Sauron's sensitive ears. The Maia decided that babysitting was a lot harder than he had expected and being a Dark Lord was nothing compared to it. He returned the book to its shelf, took a deep breath and staggered back to the Kiddie Korner, where Benny was sitting, as motionless as though he'd been frozen.

"You may move now," said Sauron. Benny began soberly playing with building blocks, and Sauron, seized with a fit of industry, began to pick up books and crayons that littered the floor of the Korner. Suddenly he halted, staring at the cover of the book with fascination. It was called _The Elfs and the Shoemaker_. Sauron could feel his eyebrows creeping towards his hairline with surprise. Little Elves? Nudist Elves? _Helpful_ Elves? If they were capable of making shoes, why were they incapable of making clothes for themselves? Why couldn't the shoemaker have left them cookies or something? It would have been a far cheaper act of goodwill.

"Is this the sort of rubbish you read regularly?" asked Sauron, waving the book at Benny. He got no answer. Benny was staring at him in wide-eyed horror.

"I pity the two of you," said Sauron.

There was no response from Benny. Sammy was still screaming. Sauron began to feel rather like screaming as well. He put _The Elfs and the Shoemaker_ back on the bookshelf with careful deliberation, trying to stay calm and rational, despite the toddler's incessant screeching.

Mrs. Tey would come at any moment, he was sure, to see what was going on in her precious library. Sauron went over to Sammy and clapped his hands sharply right in front of the child's contorted, yowling face. "Be _quiet_," he hissed.

Sammy became silent very rapidly, much to Sauron's relief.

The Maia collapsed into a bean-bag chair and regarded Benny and Sammy with great dislike. Then he said, "All right. I am going to tell the two of you a story."

**TBC...**


	12. Forward to the Past

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing!

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**CHAPTER TWELVE**

_'They heard of the Great Barrows, and the green mounds, and the stone-rings upon the hills and in the hallows among the hills.'_

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Fellowship of the Ring'_

Nienna was trying to pry Mandos's non-fiction book from him. Mandos had a death grip on it, and he wasn't letting go. He hadn't even stopped reading it. "We have to save the world, Námo!" Nienna cried, tugging.

"So, what do you want me to do?" asked Jennifer, trying to ignore the dramatic scene, since everyone else was.

"Whatever you write on this computer device," said Lórien, " will come true in Middle-earth."

Fëanor had been watching them with a rather blank expression, and now he said, "What are you talking about?" in suspicious tones, as though he were wondering if the others were plotting against him. Fëanor kept in mind that this was always a possibility.

"Would you write something that would allow Fëanor to understand what we're saying?" asked Lórien.

Jennifer typed _Fëanor spoke English_ into the computer, and instantly, it was so. This assuaged doubts of Jennifer's that she had been too polite to put into words.

"Can you understand me?" asked Lórien experimentally.

"Yes," said Fëanor in English. He felt as though he were defiling his tongue by speaking such a clumsy, uncouth language, but at least now he knew what was happening.

"Mandos has sprained his ankle," said Lórien. "Could you mend it?"

_Wow, it's like I have magic powers_, thought Jennifer to herself. She typed something quickly, and Mandos stopped reading, letting go of the book in his surprise. Nienna tumbled over backwards with a dismayed squeak and Mandos gave Jennifer a brief nod of thanks, the book mercifully forgotten.

"We need you to write something that will stop bad things from happening to history," said Nienna, getting off the floor with a pained smile and turning to Jennifer.

"Bad things?" echoed Jennifer, remembering the subject of Middle-earth, and trying to look intelligent, as behooved someone who had just healed a Vala's injuries.

"Chaotic things," said Nienna. "How would you like it if you lived in a place where you had one personality one day, and another the next? How would you like having your name change in spelling at unexpected moments? How would you like going on an innocent hunting trip, only to have it inevitably end with you being tortured, lost, or badly wounded?"

"Er... I don't think I would like that," said Jennifer. "But how can I stop those things from happening?"

"You cannot," said Mandos. It was the first time he had spoken. He had a faint frown on his face as he considered the situation.

"What do you mean?"

"The next thing anyone wrote in their computer device would destroy any protection this woman writes into existence," said Mandos. "Have we not seen that happen already?"

"True," said Fëanor, eager to add his thoughts to the discussion. "If whatever she wrote were final, history would never have been rewritten in the first place. It would have been impossible."

Mandos nodded.

"So what can we do?" asked Nienna.

"We can write something that others will not even know about," said Mandos. "If they do not realize it is there, they will be unable to change it."

That made sense. Jennifer, Fëanor, Nienna and Lórien all nodded wisely in agreement.

"What will we make for them?" asked Jennifer.

"A safe place," said Mandos, "somewhere where they will not have to undergo a continually changing history."

"Then what will become of Middle-earth?" asked Lórien.

"We could make it so that they could enter Middle-earth at will," said Nienna. "That way, they would have both a safe place, and their homes."

This plan was agreed upon. They turned to Jennifer, and she winced. "Guys, I hope you realize that previously all I've written were humor stories about hobbits!"

"Humor stories about hobbits?" asked Nienna skeptically.

"Yes," said Jennifer. "Like Frodo comes home one day and Sam has painted his hobbit hole pink. That sort of humor."

It did not sound very amusing to Mandos. But perhaps the style of the story was what counted. Mortals had such an unusual sense of humor.

The three Valar and the Elf looked at Jennifer reproachfully, and she gave a nervous giggle. "Of course, I can try my best," she said.

"Yes," said Nienna.

"Now, what sort of safe place do you want?" asked Jennifer.

"An organized one," said Mandos, and Lórien said, at the same time, "One much like Middle-earth."

"Big?"

"Yes. Very big," said Nienna. "It is for everybody."

* * *

It was two hours later. 

More people had entered the library since it had first opened, though they had steered clear of the Kiddie Korner. Sauron, telling his story to Benny and Sammy, ignored the horrified looks of shocked mothers and continued unperturbed. For years, he had been longing to tell someone the facts of history from _his_ point of view. Everyone had neglected to think about his point of view.

Until now.

Benny and Sammy were getting quite an introduction to the history of Middle-earth.

Despite having spent the past couple of hours enjoyably, Sauron could not help but beam at Lórien as he came into view. He had never imagined he would be so glad to see a Vala. "Are you done?" he asked eagerly. "Will the woman take back her children now?"

"I'm sure she will," said Lórien. He looked around the section of the library so tritely titled 'The Kiddie Korner'. There was no blood anywhere. Benny and Sammy seemed quite happy, and not like the traumatized victims of a Dark Lord's anger. Sauron's bright smile had been unnerving, though. "How did you keep them so quiet?" Lórien asked.

"I told them stories," said Sauron innocently, standing, snatching up his tea-cozy (of which he seemed to have become oddly fond), and dusting off his robes.

"Stories?"

"About Elves."

"Oh. That's nice."

"And about me."

"Oh," said Lórien. "Oh dear."

"Do not worry, my good Vala. I left out as much of the graphic violence and bloodshed as possible. Which wasn't a lot, sadly."

"Oh."

Fëanor appeared by Lórien's shoulder, and Benny and Sammy emitted screams of pure terror and cowered behind the beanbag chairs. Sauron grinned evilly. "Lord Fëanor," he said, "I have found a book that might amuse you."

Lórien watched with bemusement as Sauron handed Fëanor a thin, hard-cover book. The Maia's slitted eyes sparkled with wicked glee. "Better run," he said to Lórien, and hurried away, holding Benny and Sammy's hands and tugging them along.

Lórien decided that it would be wise to follow Sauron's example. As he dashed after the Maia, Fëanor's indignant shouts of rage echoed in his ears all too clearly.

"What was that book?" asked Lórien curiously.

"_The Elfs and the Shoemaker_," said Sauron. "Fascinating book. These mortals are so... ignorant. It's terrible."

"You don't look that upset," observed Lórien.

Sauron shrugged. "I'm not. It's their problem."

"Mummy!" shrieked Sammy, letting go of Sauron's hand and trotting over to Jennifer. Sammy babbled incoherently for a while, and Jennifer cuddled him affectionately, casting wary glances in the direction of Sauron. She had not been very keen on letting the Dark Lord look after her precious offspring, but they didn't seem the worse for wear.

"So," said Sauron, "is the world saved?"

"We think so," said Nienna. "We have created a safe place, hidden from anyone who would try to remove such a sanctuary from history. It is only accessible by way of the Barrow-downs."

"Why the Barrow-downs?" asked Sauron.

"There was already a lot of ancient power around there," said Lórien, "which we put to good use."

"And apparently it is a quiet, out-of-the-way spot where few would venture," said Fëanor.

"How are the inhabitants of Middle-earth going to find this place, then?" asked Sauron.

A few meaningful looks were exchanged. Then Nienna said, "We shall have to enter Middle-earth and show them the way."

Sauron sniggered. "You're going to turn up in Middle-earth, _claiming_ to be Valar, and _claiming _to be able to lead everyone to a safe haven?"

"No," said Lórien. "We shan't claim to be Valar. We'll be subtle. We'll show everyone what we're talking about, instead of making ludicrous claims."

Sauron was still sniggering.

"You won't remember any of this," said Nienna, "so enjoy it while you can."

Sauron smiled. "Believe me, the thought of forgetting this experience does not worry me in the slightest. I just want to go home. So I can reconquer it."

Jennifer was not really listening to the conversation. She was holding Sammy on her lap, and making the preparations for sending the Valar to Middle-earth. It was simple. All she had to do was write a short story about herself, in a library, discovering a portal behind the Fantasy Section. Creating a whole sub-universe for all the people of Middle-earth had been a lot more difficult, even if the Valar and Fëanor had helped.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked.

* * *

"_Are you ready to go?" _

_Gimli glanced up into Legolas's sapphire eyes. Legolas was holding a hammer in one hand, and had a carefully nonchalant look on his face that gave away some of the pride and excitement the Elf was feeling. Legolas had built a beautiful ship. It had taken many years, but Legolas had done it, and now it was time to depart Middle-earth. _

"_Yes, I'm ready," said Gimli gruffly. Gimli was only capable of speaking gruffly, but in bittersweet occasions such as this one, the gruffness in his tone became even gruffer._

_Legolas smiled. "Let's sail these seas, you and I." _

_Gimli scrambled on board the ship, and Legolas followed, casting one last look back at the trees of Ithilien. He was not sad to leave, not when he was looking forward to Valinor so much, but still..._

_The ship slipped away from the shore..._

_And time looped..._

_and circled back..._

_and back..._

_and back..._

_until suddenly... _

_Legolas was no longer standing proudly on the bow of his ship, bound for Valinor, but was instead ducking wine bottles, which his father was flinging at his head with great skill and enjoyment. And Legolas, though his memories told him he was used to this unkind treatment, was suddenly filled with the deepest regret, as if he had come very close to doing something, and had fallen short of it._

_Again. _

* * *

At the moment that time had looped, the Fëanturi, Nienna, Fëanor and Sauron had all been stepping into the portal behind the Fantasy section, and Mandos had been realizing that Fëanor did not belong in Third Age Middle-earth, but in his Halls. 

Unfortunately, this realization came too late.

Mandos's next realization came too late as well.

**TBC...**


	13. PART TWO: Ill Met in Mirkwood

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Once again, and as always, my thanks to those of you who reviewed!

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

'"_Well, here is Mirkwood!" said Gandalf. "The greatest of the forests of the Northern world. I hope you like the look of it."' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Hobbit'_

Vairë was weaving absent-mindedly, not really looking at what she was doing. She was thinking about Vána. Vána was beginning to worry her a little. She was fanatical. She was sending dozens of girls into Middle-earth in one Age, and then starting the Age over again so that _more_ girls could do the same. Vána seemed very unconcerned about the history of what was _supposed_ to be happening.

But Vána wasn't quite doing the whole thing. Vairë knew that Vána was organizing these girls, but she was not controlling them. And Vairë herself had little power over history. Not really. She had some say in the matter, but it was doing what it wished, without her assistance.

Things were getting out of her control.

Vairë looked down at her weaving and saw that Mandos's head had been bitten off by a huge spider. She gasped. "Yikes, I didn't even know they could do that," she muttered to herself.

She began ripping out her weaving as fast as she could. Mandos was a lousy husband, but he didn't deserve to die like that.

Mandos restored back to his usual health and strength, and his head restored to its usual position on his shoulders, he disappeared completely. Vairë frowned. She wove on a little, and Mandos reappeared. Out of nowhere. Vairë was puzzled, but she kept on weaving. She saw the spider plunging out of the tree, and then Vairë did a little harmless interfering.

Mandos saved, she heaved a sigh of relief and kept on weaving, feeling strangely guilty.

Vána entered the room, and Vairë felt guiltier. She wished she had stuck with weaving welcome mats. That had been a fun and harmless hobby. However, when she had been weaving mats, history had been frozen, so that was no good.

"How goes the weaving? How are our visitors coming along?" asked Vána. Vána euphemistically referred to the girls under her care as her 'visitors'.

"They're fine," said Vairë, glancing over her work. One was closing in on Celeborn, one had already driven Thranduil insane, and Haldir's had just pushed him out of a tree. Legolas's 'visitor' was going to meet him in Rivendell, when he fled there to get away from his father.

Vána peered over Vairë's shoulder, which made the Weaver nervous. "I only have so much thread, Vána," she said, hoping Vána would step away. "When I run out of thread, history is over."

"Really? I didn't know it worked that way," said Vána, who hadn't done her research.

"For the moment, I'm simply tearing out my weaving and doing it again for you," said Vairë. "But the threads are becoming worn. History is going to fall apart if I don't stop doing this soon."

"Hmm, scary thought," said Vána, twirling a radiant lock of hair around her finger. She maintained a serious look for a few seconds, before succumbing to a fit of giggles.

* * *

Mandos jumped out of the way just in time. Lórien ducked, though this was an unnecessary move on his part, and Nienna froze in shock, her mouth dropping open. Fëanor, rolling his eyes, produced a knife from his sleeve and turned to face the huge spider that had nearly bitten Mandos's head off. 

"So this is sunny Mirkwood," said Nienna, once her powers of speech returned to her. She carefully moved far away from Fëanor and the spider, who were both thrashing around in a large bush. She felt that Jennifer might have sent them to a nicer place.

The spider having been killed, Fëanor removed himself from the bush, wiped his knife clean, and slipped it back into his sleeve. "By the Trees," he said, a smirk on his face, "you three are the most incompetent, pathetic Valar I've ever had the misfortune to meet _or_ defend. And if you think, Mandos, that I'll come dashing to your rescue every time something comes jumping out of the trees at you, you are sadly mistaken."

Mandos glared, dusting spider-webs off his robes.

"Where is Sauron?" asked Nienna, changing the subject before it became a topic of contention.

"I presume that since he actually serves a purpose in the Third Age, he's gone to wherever Dark Lords go," said Lórien.

"Mordor, in this case, I suppose," said Nienna.

"What do we do now?" asked Fëanor.

"We try to get out of Mirkwood before the spiders eat us," said Nienna. "Ugh, I hate spiders."

All the Valar hated spiders. Spiders brought back very unpleasant memories of Ungoliant and the darkness that had fallen over Valinor. Fëanor remembered this, but didn't feel very sorry for the three. He hated spiders as well, but he hated balrogs more.

Unfortunately, this particular Mirkwood was full of spiders, and Fëanor was the only one with a weapon. The Valar found some branches with which they beat off the spiders that attacked them, and Fëanor diced and sliced the larger ones. They remained calm and practical in this stressful situation, but by the time night had fallen, they were tired and cranky. None of them had eaten anything all day.

"I do not think this was a very good plan," said Lórien, as they all shivered beneath the trees, trying to get to sleep. "No one is going to believe us when we tell them about the safe place!"

"Let's just hope we actually meet some people to persuade," said Nienna, who was braiding her hair, as she always did when she was anxious.

Fëanor was silent. He was wondering what roasted spider tasted like. It seemed more and more appetizing a dish as the night progressed.

Mandos was silent as well, but he was not thinking about food. He was thinking about his Halls. He was wondering who had been placed in charge of them, and how the fëar were feeling about the inevitable changes. He hoped that they were all right. He hoped that the Halls were still standing. He wondered if anyone had remembered to feed his cat.

Mandos would have been filled with horror if he had been able to see what Tulkas and Nessa were doing to his Halls. Fortunately, he did not know that Nessa was wallpapering them with an unseemly orange and pink patterned wallpaper. He did not know that Tulkas had ordered new furniture, of the 'stainless steel' variety, to give the place a more modern look. He did not know that the fëar were all harried and miserable, not to mention confused. They missed Mandos. They missed his dull routines and schedules and paperwork. With Mandos in charge, everything had been organized. Everything had been quiet, peaceful, nearly relaxing. The atmosphere had been hushed and reverent.

The Halls of Mandos were hushed and reverent no longer. The place was pure chaos, and, if any one thing terrified Mandos, it was chaos.

Fëanor did not realize how lucky he was to be out of the Halls. He felt more hungry than lucky. The last thing he had eaten had been pizza.

Fëanor sighed. Mandos sighed. Nienna and Lórien sighed. They were a sad and pathetic sight.

At that moment, they could hear someone walking quietly down the Mirkwood road. He rounded the bend, and Fëanor found himself face to face with the Elf he had heard so much about: Prince Legolas Thranduilion.

The two disliked each other instantly. Legolas eyed the tall, elaborately clad Elf-Lord covertly, keeping a cautious distance from him, which was wise, and Fëanor glared openly at Legolas, having deduced who the wood-Elf was. Fëanor had not been delighted to hear that there was an Elf more famous and beloved than he. Not that Fëanor was particularly beloved by _anyone_.

Nienna rushed over to Legolas's side. "Legolas!" she said. "What are you doing here? There are spiders about!"

Legolas gave Nienna a perplexed look, wondering why a strange woman had dashed out of nowhere to inform him of something he already knew, but Jennifer had arranged it so that no one would think to ask who the Valar (and Fëanor) were.

"I'm running away," Legolas said. "My father has been throwing wine bottles at my head."

Nienna still felt guilty about having not sent the previous Legolas a vision to account for his foray into Krystalynn's closet. "Where are you running away to?" she asked.

"Rivendell, I think," said Legolas.

"We're heading in that direction," said Lórien, emerging from the bush in which he had been lying. "We would gladly accompany you."

"Do you have anything to eat?" asked Nienna.

Legolas opened up his knapsack and pulled out a loaf of bread. "I brought this," he said. "And some nuts and berries. And a piece of cheese."

Fëanor deprived Legolas of his loaf, much to Legolas's dismay. "I'm starving," Fëanor said, by way of explanation. He tore off some of the bread and began munching it.

"You sound like Sauron when you say that," snapped Nienna. "And you shouldn't snatch." She grabbed the bread from Fëanor and handed it back to Legolas. "Don't worry, dear," she said. "We're all perfectly sane. Just a bit hungry."

At this point, Legolas decided to be noble. He divided his rations into portions for each of them, and then watched as these portions were rapidly devoured. He looked rather glum.

They set out for Rivendell the next morning.

It took a long time to get to Rivendell, but the trip was eventful. Legolas, sick of Fëanor's obnoxious ways, tried to poison him with a few of the more harmful berries he had in his knapsack. Fëanor, sick because he had nearly been poisoned, tried to push Legolas into a river. Mandos was irritated with them and banged their heads together. Nienna said that corporal punishment was cruel. While Mandos was distracted, Lórien pushed_ him_ into the river, in a brotherly way. In a brotherly way, Mandos tried to dismember him. Nienna yelled at them all to get along better.

That was just the first day.

On the second day, no one behaved so badly, because Mandos had a cold, and it was making him short-tempered. That meant that they all had to be nice and not get on his nerves, or else someone would die painfully.

On the third day, Lórien was sent out to forage for edible plants, and returned hastily to camp with a horde of Orcs following close behind. Legolas shot twenty-five of them in under two minutes, which left everyone feeling stunned, Legolas and the Orcs included. The surviving Orcs ran away.

On the fourth day, Lórien announced that he was chronically tired, and that he needed to catch up on his rest. He slept for the entire day. Legolas, Fëanor, Nienna and Mandos (who was still sickly) played guessing games for a while, until Legolas managed to offend Fëanor, and Fëanor managed to hack off lots of Legolas's hair with his knife before anyone could stop him. That brought an end to the guessing game. Legolas and Fëanor both had to be forcibly sedated.

Legolas supposedly spent the fifth day in mourning, but he was actually thinking up plots to get his revenge on Fëanor.

On the sixth day, lo and behold, most of Fëanor's hair was tied to a nearby tree. Fëanor was not attached to it. Mandos was knocked unconscious as he attempted to keep Fëanor from throttling Legolas. After that, Legolas hurriedly climbed up a tree and refused to come down. Nienna burst into tears and said that she couldn't handle this sort of life any more. Lórien went to sleep, leaving Fëanor to try to climb up the tree after his nemesis.

On the seventh day, when Mandos regained consciousness, he explained to Fëanor all the horrible things that it was fully in his power for him to do to fëar who were particularly wicked. Fëanor was cowed, for the moment. Mandos proceeded to violently shake the tree until Legolas fell out of it, rather in the way apples do. They continued on their journey.

All was calm.

On the tenth day, they encountered slavers, but eluded them easily. Fëanor suggested that they sell Legolas to the slavers. Mandos suggested that they sell Fëanor to the slavers as well. "We can collect you again when our mission is over," he said. Fëanor tried to pretend it was a joke, though he knew that Mandos did not make jokes.

On the fifteenth day, Nienna insisted on washing everyone's clothing. Fëanor said this was why women shouldn't be allowed to go on long journeys with the 'saner sex'. Nienna thought of the warfare that had gone on in the camp in days past, smiled serenely and said nothing more. The clothes were washed.

By the time they staggered into Rivendell, Legolas and Fëanor's hair was no longer short and mangled. Fëanor had braided his again, with beautiful intricacy (that was how he had occupied the past few days), working the beads and golden threads into it with skill, and Legolas had been grudgingly admiring. Nienna suggested that Fëanor braid Mandos and Lórien's hair, and Fëanor did so, with relish. Lots of tugging and yanking was involved in the process.

The Rivendell Elves, seeing five strangers approaching, were not sure whether to let them into Rivendell or not, but Legolas announced that he was Thranduil's son, and that he needed to take refuge in Rivendell, and the Elves were very understanding. They supposed that the others must be Legolas's friends, so they let them in as well, though they wondered at their terribly old-fashioned clothing.

"Now what?" asked Nienna, once Legolas had gone off to party with his _real_ friends, Elladan and Elrohir.

"We'll find the Barrow-downs on the map," said Mandos, "and then we'll go to the Barrow-downs, make sure the safe place is there, and then tell everyone else about it."

"Jennifer wrote it so that everyone would believe us," said Lórien.

It was very convenient. The three Valar and Fëanor went to consult the map.

The map was a bit of a shock. The Barrow-downs were simply not there. Hobbiton was right next to Bree. The Old Forest was missing. The Barrow-downs were missing. In fact, a large chunk of Middle-earth was completely gone.

"They were there when we wrote about the safe place!" cried Nienna, staring at the map in horror.

"Time must have looped," said Fëanor. He wasn't very upset. As long as they were in Middle-earth, he wasn't in the Halls of Mandos. That was the way he liked it.

"That's it," said Lórien. "That's what must have happened."

Nienna whimpered. "We'll have to wait until the Third Age is over and begins again. Maybe the Barrow-downs will be there the next time around."

"Three thousand years isn't very long," said Mandos. He meant it. For the Valar, three thousand years was a very brief period of time. Nienna smiled weakly, and nodded.

They were all standing around the map when an Elf came walking briskly down the hall. He halted when he saw them, shaking his golden hair out of his widening eyes in dismay.

"Oh, Valar," he gasped.

Mandos smirked. "Exactly, Glorfindel."

**TBC...**


	14. Glorfindel and the Evil Force

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

_My gratitude_

_To All_

_Who reviewed._

**

* * *

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

'_You ought not to be rude to an eagle...'_

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Hobbit'_

"What are we having to eat?" asked Varda.

It was dinner-time in Ilmarin, and Varda was readying herself for the task of cooking whatever Manwë brought her. Varda liked to cook, but there were some foods she was sick of preparing. She turned to her spouse, cooking implements in hand. "Please tell me we're not eating salmon again."

Manwë could not truthfully tell her that, since he was holding a salmon in his hand. Varda winced.

"I know we've eaten salmon every night for two centuries," said Manwë, "but my eagles like catching fish. I don't want to make them feel unappreciated."

"Tell them they would be more appreciated if they caught something other than salmon," said Varda.

"They don't take constructive criticism well. It hurts them."

"All right. That's fine. You can gut the poor thing this time," said Varda, tying her apron around her waist. "If I see the entrails of _one more fish_, I am going to scream. Loudly. And then I shall explode a few stars, so as to vent my annoyance in a creative way."

Manwë went to get a knife, somewhat subdued. Varda reminded herself that Manwë was a perfect spouse, unlike Mandos, and that she should be grateful. After a few minutes, Manwë came back with the gutted fish. He looked ill.

"Vairë came over this morning," said Varda to take his mind off the fish. She opened her cook book and flipped through it, her mood completely dismal. She wished someone would write a book called _10,001 Unique and Interesting Ways to Cook Salmon_. It was the sort of book she desperately needed.

"Did you have a nice time with her?" asked Manwë.

Varda nodded. "She gave us a welcome mat." And she drank three cups of tea.

"Oh." Manwë had not noticed the new welcome mat. He tried to look as though he had.

"She said that she'd ripped out some of her weaving, in the light of yesterday's revelations. She is very bitter," said Varda. "She says she hates the people of Middle-earth."

Manwë frowned. "That doesn't sound like a good attitude for a Vala to have."

"No, it doesn't." Varda stared at the salmon. She felt sorry for it. It had died so that she might eat another horrible fish dinner. She couldn't even properly appreciate its sacrifice.

"I wonder if she is being corrupted somehow..." murmured Manwë, who was growing paranoid about corrupted Valar. He found some lettuce for a salad.

Varda looked at the fish again. "Couldn't you explain to your eagles that we don't want any more salmon? They're big enough to be bringing us deer!"

"I feel so sorry for them, though," said Manwë, slicing cucumbers. "I mean, after all that Morgoth did to them..." Manwë got choked up just thinking about it. When some of Manwë's eagles had fallen into Morgoth's hands, he had ripped their wings off. The survivors had gone on to lead happy, productive lives, after they had spent years in a rehabilitation unit, but it was still a horrible, evil thing for Morgoth to have done.

"I know, my love," said Varda, rubbing his back comfortingly. "But they're all right now."

Varda went back to her fish, pondering the possible relation between Vairë's strange attitude and the world's first Dark Lord.

* * *

It took a while to calm Glorfindel down. He had managed to get out of the Halls of Mandos (without the permission of Eru, Manwë or Mandos himself) and had managed to start living a happy and normal life in Rivendell, and then, suddenly, there were three Valar and a First Age Elf standing in the hallway staring at him. To make matters worse, Mandos had a half irritated, half triumphant _so-we-meet-again_ look on his face and Fëanor was simply being smug.

It never crossed Glorfindel's mind that perhaps he could attack Mandos and make his getaway. Glorfindel was not at all similar to Fëanor. This is why Fëanor was so smug. It never crossed Fëanor's mind that perhaps Glorfindel was making a better impression than he had, simply because he was _not_ attacking Mandos.

"Wha– what are you d-doing here?" stammered Glorfindel at last.

"I could ask the same of you," said Mandos. He was enjoying himself. "You were not supposed to leave my Halls."

"It was an accident, you must believe me!" cried Glorfindel, backing away slowly. "I do not even know what happened!"

Mandos, who derived great pleasure from doing paperwork, had a very large file under Glorfindel's name. Glorfindel was an enigma. Sometimes there was one of him, sometimes there were two of him. He drifted effortlessly in and out of the Halls of Mandos. He was not supposed to able to drift in and out of the Halls of Mandos, especially not effortlessly. He was supposed to stay in the Halls of Mandos until he had permission to leave.

Glorfindel had nearly recovered from his shock. Since Mandos was not hauling him back to Valinor, Glorfindel decided that he had time to talk his way out of trouble. "You'd better not all stand in the hallway like this," he said hastily. "Come to my study."

Mandos, Nienna, Lórien and Fëanor trooped after Glorfindel, who carefully avoided going near the other Elves of Rivendell. They reached his study and entered it. Glorfindel sat down on top of his desk, swinging his feet, and looked up at them blithely.

Mandos was picking his way through the wreckage. There were things on the floor of Glorfindel's study that Mandos had not imagined even existed. He glared down at Glorfindel and asked, much in the way he had asked Krystalynn, "What is this strange device?"

Glorfindel looked at what Mandos was holding, and said, "It's a cigarette lighter."

"What is that? What is a cigarette?" asked Mandos.

Glorfindel shrugged. "I have no idea," he said. "It makes fire, though."

Mandos put the cigarette lighter on Glorfindel's desk. Then he said, "How did you escape my Halls?"

"I haven't a clue." Glorfindel gave another rather lavish shrug. "I was minding my own business–"

Fëanor snorted. He and Glorfindel had met.

"– and then I was here," continued Glorfindel, "in Rivendell, and, according to Lord Elrond, I had been here for years. Apparently Manwë sent me here on some 'special mission' or something."

"He never did anything of the sort," said Lórien. "Manwë said that unleashing you on Middle-Earth a second time would be extremely cruel."

"I'm touched," said Glorfindel, looking poignant. "It was kind of him to think of sparing me from the trials of this world."

"I think he meant that it would be cruel to inflict you on other people a second time around," said Lórien.

"The evil power sent him here," said Nienna in hushed tones.

Glorfindel blinked, no longer poignant. "May I ask what's going on? What has brought _Fëanor_ and three Valar to Rivendell?"

"It would take a good deal of explaining," said Lórien.

"I have time," said Glorfindel.

Glorfindel had always been horribly polite and obliging, remembered Fëanor, even in the Halls of Mandos, where very few fëar had bothered to be nice. He collapsed into Glorfindel's armchair and sprawled there, glaring at everyone who met his eyes.

"You are not supposed to be the same Elf as First Age Glorfindel," said Mandos. "At least, I think so. I am not sure, however." Admitting this was difficult for Mandos, so he admitted it rapidly and moved on. "There are evil forces at work. They are twisting history into something different from what it should be."

Glorfindel nodded wisely, looking completely blank. Then his eyes widened as he heard footsteps in the hall. "Speaking of evil forces!" he cried, and leaped up as though he had been scalded. "Quick! Hide!"

Mandos and Lórien were so startled that they did not protest as Glorfindel stuffed them into his supply cabinet. Fëanor, with great presence of mind, hid behind the armchair. Nienna scrambled behind Glorfindel's desk. Glorfindel ran his fingers through his hair, smoothed down his robe and opened the door to his study.

"Erestor!" he said cheerfully. "So good to see you!"

Erestor sniffed. He clearly felt that Glorfindel's behavior was suspect at best. "Good afternoon, Lord Glorfindel," he said stiffly. "I have some papers for you to sign."

"Oh, that's good," said Glorfindel, trying to wrestle the papers away from Erestor. The other Elf's idea of 'some' differed drastically from Glorfindel's idea of 'some'. The stack weighed as much as a small dog.

"I want them _all_ signed. Lose _one paper_ and you will lose your head," said Erestor scowling. He clung to the papers, unwilling to relinquish them. "I should like to make sure these papers get to your desk, Lord Glorfindel," he said.

Erestor entered Glorfindel's study, ignoring Glorfindel's panicky look, and carefully made his way to Glorfindel's desk. Nienna looked a good deal more panicky than Glorfindel. She tried to be smaller and more invisible, but Erestor saw her anyway.

"Well!" he huffed, slamming the papers down on the desk and eyeing Nienna in open astonishment. Then he turned around and flounced out of the room, muttering something about how he could tell when he wasn't wanted.

Fëanor emerged from behind the armchair and collapsed across it, sniggering with wicked amusement. Mandos and Lórien staggered out of the supply closet, offended for their sister's sake. Nienna was half-horrified and half-grinning.

"I'm sorry about that," said Glorfindel apologetically. "But don't worry. Erestor's not the sort of the Elf who'd go and tell everyone about you, Lady Nienna. He's the sort of Elf who'll try to blackmail me later." Glorfindel sighed, looking at the huge stack of paperwork, and then gave Mandos a sly glance. "Would you like to do something for the Greater Good?" he asked.

Mandos was indecisive and wary. He always got nervous when people started talking about the 'Greater Good'.

"Fantastic!" said Glorfindel, deciding that Mandos's indecision meant that he was eager to assist. "Here's a pen," he said, shoving a pen into Mandos's hand, "and here's some ink," he continued, uncorking an ink pot. "My signature is very easy to fake. It just looks like a scribble anyway."

Mandos might have protested, but he rather liked the thought of signing things for a few hours. It was comforting to do so in this time of upheaval. He sat down at Glorfindel's desk, shoving lots of miscellaneous debris off to the side, and started reading over the papers.

"So," said Glorfindel, "will you be staying here long?"

"Yes," said Lórien. "We'll be staying until the end of the Third Age."

"Oh. I see. And that is... how long..?" asked Glorfindel, eyebrows raised.

"We cannot tell you that," said Mandos, signing busily.

"Yes, that's classified information," said Fëanor, smiling sinisterly from his corner.

Suddenly Nienna was beaming at them all delightedly. "We can bring an end to this quickly!" she cried, practically clapping her hands with glee. "Perhaps we shan't have to wait for thousands of years!"

"Really?" the Fëanturi asked as one.

"Yes!" said Nienna. "All we have to do is make Legolas leave Middle-earth earlier than he usually does!" She turned to Fëanor, who clearly knew what she was going to say next, because an even more sinister smile was creeping across his face. "Fëanor, do you think you could make Legolas's life absolutely miserable?"

"Yes," said Fëanor, with calm assurance. "I think I could."

"It is not quite fair," said Mandos slowly. Mandos was not cruel. He simply had a strong sense of justice, which tended to go against what other people wanted. He did not like doing things that were not fair.

"It's for his own good," said Nienna.

Glorfindel was watching them. He looked as though he were mentally putting the pieces of the puzzle together, and arriving at some interesting conclusions. Eventually he said, "Tea is served about this time. Are you hungry?"

"Yes!" said Fëanor, jumping out of the armchair. "I'm famished! All I have had to eat since Mirkwood were nuts and berries."

"And cheese and bread sometimes, don't forget," said Nienna. "I _am_ hungry, though."

"You are my honored guests," said Glorfindel courteously. "I cannot have you starving. That would not be polite." He offered Nienna his arm, with quite an impudent glance back at Mandos, who was smoldering. Nienna actually giggled as she accepted Glorfindel's arm, which did nothing to improve the Vala's mood.

They wandered down to the dining hall for tea. There were piles of scones sitting out on the tables, with all sorts of jams beside them. There was tea, of course, the aroma of which made everyone suddenly feel ravenous. There were fresh buns made of sweet bread, smothered helplessly in cream.

Fëanor grabbed a plate and began piling food on top of it, demonstrating very little tact or deliberation. Glorfindel and Nienna selected plates more thoughtfully and strolled along beside the tables, quietly discussing various teas and scones with each other. Mandos and Lórien watched them.

"He is only teasing us," said Lórien hopefully.

Mandos nodded, though he wasn't sure. "It will end in doom," he said.

"Oh Eru, I thought I'd heard the end of that," said Lórien, and he went off to find a plate.

Mandos glanced around and saw Erestor, who was sipping tea in a corner and glowering at people. There was a book on the table beside him. Mandos strolled over and sat down across from the Elf. "Good evening," he said.

"Good evening," said Erestor, his tone more suited for a threatening comment than a friendly one.

Mandos suddenly wondered how Erestor and Mrs. Tey would get along. He had visions of them sitting in the library together, contentedly reading their separate books. He thought they would probably like that.

Erestor was looking at Glorfindel with narrowed eyes, clutching his teacup with inky fingers. Suddenly he said, "I do wish Lord Glorfindel would keep his mind on his work."

Mandos nodded, agreeing fervently.

"I end up doing half of Glorfindel's jobs anyway," said Erestor gloomily. "Often more than half. And while I'm working, he goes off and flirts with ladies!" Mandos thought he heard the Elf mutter, "It's not fair" as an afterthought, but he couldn't be sure.

Mandos said, "I can speak to him about it."

Erestor looked skeptical. "He's very lazy. It would take a Vala to make him work. But perhaps you should speak to him about it, if you could. It would be good, albeit surprising, if he made a bit of effort for a change." He savagely bit into his scone. "Reincarnated balrog-slayer indeed!"

Mandos excused himself and went over to the tables. Everything looked far too sweet for his tastes. In the end, he chose a wheaten scone smeared with blackcurrant jam, and poured himself some chamomile tea to drink.

He joined his brother and sister at their table. Fëanor was already eating his third cream bun. There was a dusting of powered sugar on his perfect nose. Nienna and Glorfindel kept on grinning at each other. They obviously viewed themselves as accomplices and fellow conspirators. As for Lórien, he was too busy drinking mint tea and eating ginger and orange-peel scones to get embarrassingly over-protective.

As they were finishing their tea, Legolas entered the dining hall, with Elladan and Elrohir beside him. They looked as though they were having too much fun.

"Fëanor," said Mandos, "now is the time for you to prove your worth."

"Once you know my worth, what will you do?" snapped Fëanor, who was still rather sulky about the slaver incident.

Mandos regressed to his old ways, and said nothing.

Fëanor stalked off to deal with Legolas.

**TBC...**


	15. Varda Gets Things Done

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only and not for money.

My thanks to all who reviewed!

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

'_But Morgoth himself the Valar thrust through the Door of Night beyond the Walls of the World, into the Timeless Void; and a guard is set for ever on those walls, and Eärendil keeps watch upon the ramparts of the sky.' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Manwë had just finished politely telling his eagles that Varda was tired of eating salmon. The eagles were confused. They could not understand how _anyone_ could be tired of eating salmon. They were offended when Manwë tried to explain that after eating salmon for two hundred years, it became a rather unpleasant diet. Eventually they flew off, disgruntled expressions on their faces.

Manwë sighed, feeling horrible for having offended them. He sat down on the stairs of Ilmarin and was gloomy for a while. Then he got up and went to talk to Vairë. He thought that he might as well do all his offending in one day.

Vairë was weaving in her own hall. She gave Manwë a guileless look when he came across her, which only served to make Manwë suspicious.

"Good afternoon, Vairë," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking guilelessly back at her. If anyone was good at seeming completely innocent, it was Manwë.

"Good afternoon, Manwë," said Vairë, weaving busily. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you," said Manwë. He peered over Vairë's shoulder, trying to see what she was doing. Shapes and scenes were emerging rapidly, but he had a difficult time making them out properly. "Could you explain these pictures for me, please?" he asked.

Vairë decided to tell Manwë the truth, knowing better than to underestimate him. She pointed to one scene. "That's Námo," she said.

Manwë was startled. "Really? He is in Middle-earth now?"

Vairë nodded. "He's not been there long. Maybe a few months at the most."

A few months was hardly any time at all. Still, Manwë was surprised to learn that Mandos had been away that long. "What about Irmo and Nienna?" he asked.

"They're in Middle-earth as well," said Vairë, pointing to the pictures of the Valar in question. They appeared to be drinking tea and eating scones. "They have all made it to Imladris."

"Who's that?" asked Manwë, tapping on the picture of a tall Elf.

"Fëanor," said Vairë. "He escaped the Halls, but Mandos seems to have caught him."

"Why didn't anyone report this?" asked Manwë. The thought of Fëanor running around in Third Age Middle-earth made him feel ill.

"Tulkas and Nessa didn't notice his absence," said Vairë. "They have let everything in the Halls go completely to pieces."

Manwë suspected that Vairë was correct on that count. He couldn't imagine Tulkas and Nessa being organized in the least. He had thought, when he had appointed them to the task, that they would help the fëar be more cheerful, but now he worried that he had made a mistake. Still, no one else had volunteered for the job.

"Perhaps I ought to go and inspect the Halls of Mandos," said Manwë.

"That's a good idea," said Vairë. "You could restore order again."

Manwë dashed off, and Vairë watched him go, still weaving busily. She thought that Valinor was in a very bad state indeed.

* * *

"Come in! Come in!" cried Nessa delightedly, ushering Varda into Mandos's office. 

Varda sighed as she viewed the devastation. She had been in Mandos's office before, on occasion, and it had always been austere and immaculate, with everything carefully filed away. It had been so radically altered since he had left that now it was nearly unrecognizable.

It was a huge office, with hundreds of filing cabinets lining the walls. Nessa, always the athletic type, had moved a ping-pong table and dartboard into the room, since there was plenty of space for them. There was a soccer ball perched on Mandos's paperclip tray on top of his desk. But worst of all, there were papers spilling everywhere. Nessa had apparently tried to file some of them, and then gotten bored. Papers were tumbling out of the cabinets, all crumpled and bent. Papers were lying in dejected heaps on the floor. Nessa had folded some into origami hats and boats. She had even set her coffee cup on a massive stack of them.

Nessa chattered excitedly as she led Varda into the room. She pulled out a chair and bundled papers off it. "I'm going to get this dump refurbished," she remarked, seeing Varda's horrified expression. "This whole place is so gloomy."

Varda, looking around, _did_ feel rather gloomy. She missed Mandos. "I was wondering," she said, politely interrupting Nessa, "if I could pay Melkor a visit."

Nessa gaped. "I suppose you could," she said, after a few stunned minutes had ticked by.

"Is there something I have to fill out first?" asked Varda. "Are there some instructions I should read? Warnings? Precautions? Or can I just enter the Timeless Void right away?"

"I don't know. N-no one ever wants to visit the Void," said Nessa, twisting her hair around her fingers anxiously.

"Surely someone must sometimes?"

"Vairë brings Morgoth dinner now and then, I think," said Nessa.

"Really?" Varda's eyebrows arched. "Is that allowed?"

"I don't know," said Nessa. "It must be allowed, or else she wouldn't do it."

"Hand me the keys, then, if there's nothing I have to read or sign," said Varda, stretching out her hand.

Nessa opened a drawer of Mandos's desk, and eyed the contents worriedly.

There were hundreds of keys in Mandos's desk drawer. Mandos was practically a key collector. He had small, silver keys, and larger, heavier keys. Some keys were strange shapes, others were of a more traditional design. Nessa turned over the keys quickly, searching. Thankfully, Mandos had all the keys neatly labeled. Finding the one that opened the Door of Night wasn't too difficult.

"Here," said Nessa at last, pulling out a huge, iron key, adorned with spikes. She shivered at the touch of it. "Good luck, Lady Varda."

"Thank you." Varda took the key with a sarcastic smile and quickly left the room. The Timeless Void would be nothing to her after Mandos's Desecrated Office.

* * *

"What are you doing?" bellowed Tulkas goodnaturedly, having come across some fëar who seemed to actually be _working_. 

Caught and cornered, the fëar cowered fearfully, clutching at pens and pieces of paper. Eventually they nudged their spokeself forward.

"Er... we were filling out our paperwork," said Ecthelion nervously.

"Paperwork?" roared Tulkas. The fëar cringed even more, and Ecthelion handed up his paperwork for Tulkas to inspect. Tulkas squinted at it. "Trees of Valinor," he said at last, "why are wasting your time on such rubbish? You could be playing games."

"Well... er... Mandos will come back soon," said Ecthelion, "and we don't want to be behind."

Tulkas snorted. "I'll tell Mandos that I kept you busy, never fear," he said. "I won't let him punish you. Now run along and have fun!"

"No!" cried Ecthelion desperately. "Really, we'd rather do paperwork, please."

Tulkas was just about to force the fëar to go and play hopscotch and ring-around-the-rosy with the others, when Manwë entered the Halls of Mandos. His eyes widened to size extra large as they were greeted by the sight of the orange and pink patterned wallpaper. He murmured, "This is worse than I thought," and hurried over to Tulkas.

Tulkas greeted Manwë with an enthusiastic whack on the back, an unexpected blow that sent Manwë reeling forward. The fëar scuttled out of his way, dragging their paperwork after them.

"Hello, Manwë!" said Tulkas delightedly.

"Hello," gasped out Manwë, picking himself off the floor. Grinning, Tulkas punched him brutally on the arm, and Manwë grinned painfully back at him.

"How are you?" boomed Tulkas.

"I am well, thank you," said Manwë, deciding not to mention his broken arm.

At this moment, Nessa dashed into the Halls. "Lady Varda is gone!" she cried.

"Gone? Gone where?" demanded Manwë.

"To the _Timeless Void_!" shrieked Nessa hysterically.

"Oh dear," said Manwë.

* * *

Eärendil was leaning dangerously far out over the side of his ship, gazing down at the world beneath him. Varda was beside him for several minutes before he noticed her presence, and then he startled so violently that he nearly fell off his boat. 

"Lady Elbereth!" he cried, once he had regained his balance. "It is an honor to have you on board!"

Varda gave him a kindly patronizing smile. "I need you to take me to the Door of Night," she said.

This came as even more of a shock to poor Eärendil. Eventually the flabbergasted man said, "Certainly, my lady," and then continued by mentioning a lot of nautical things that Varda did not understand. She thought that perhaps he was telling her that it would take a while to reach the Door, but she was uncertain. Varda gave him another smile, this one doubtful and confused, and then stared off into the distance contemplatively, hoping that he would be quiet soon.

Presently, Varda realized that she was contemplating the Walls of the World, and then she was simply awed. It takes a lot to make a Vala feel insignificant, but the Walls were overwhelmingly vast. She found herself staring straight upwards, and even then, she could not see the top of them. She looked away and saw that the walls stretched infinitely downward as well.

"How can you handle this without going mad?" asked Varda.

Eärendil hummed and hawed. Then he said, "I read a lot of books."

"Oh." Varda nodded encouragingly.

"I play chess with myself sometimes," said Eärendil. "I talk to myself. And I can whistle the Anthem of Sirion backwards!"

Varda wondered if perhaps Eärendil _was_ mad. She supposed it would not be tactful to ask.

Eärendil gave her a nervous grin, and then said, "Here we are. This is the Door of Night."

Varda couldn't see anything, just the vast, dark wall, but she nodded intelligently. "Wait here to pick me up again," she said, and walked across the ship to its port side. She reached out, hesitantly, and ran her fingers over the wall. It was very cold, and it made her whole body tingle inside. At last she found the lock, slipped the key into it, twisted it, and entered the Void.

Varda entered the Void without actually opening the Door. This was strange. It seemed that all one had to do was have the key and turn it, and then one was instantly inside. Mandos was very security conscious, and he probably didn't want the Door of Night to ever be _open_.

It was blacker than ink inside the Void. Varda knew there was nothing to see, but she liked light, so she put the key back in her pocket, and pulled out two stars from her other pocket. She held a star in each hand. "Melkor! Come here!" she yelled. "I want to speak with you!"

Melkor, of course, did not come into the circle of light, but she felt him, far off, hovering on its outskirts. That was as close as she wanted him.

"What a pleasant surprise," growled Melkor. He sounded more cranky than threatening, so Varda only smirked sweetly in his direction, instead of running for the Door of Night, screaming.

"I would like to ask you a few questions," said Varda. "You don't have to answer them." She paused meaningfully. "Of course, I don't have to take these stars back with me when I leave." She looked even more meaningful.

He would be incapable of extinguishing her stars, hence Varda's confidence that she would get her answers. Melkor growled a little more.

"Firstly," said Varda, "I would like to know if you have been talking with Vairë."

"I have not," said Melkor.

Varda nodded, absently tossing a star into the air and catching it again. Then she said, "So she brings you dinner and goes away at once?"

"Yes," said Melkor. "She leaves it at the door."

Varda tossed her star again, thoughtfully this time. "What do you think of Sauron?"

"What do you mean by that?" asked Melkor. The light darkened slightly as he moved forward.

"He's doing a rather good job of taking over Middle-earth again, isn't he?" asked Varda. "And all without your help."

Melkor was quiet. Varda smiled. "Or perhaps," she said slowly, "he does have your help."

Varda knew that she had hit on the truth. Melkor's silence was enough to tell her that. She felt Melkor coming even closer, and she faltered for the first time. He was shapeless, only a fragment of himself. He was very dangerous that way.

Her questions answered, albeit indirectly, she had no need to stay around. Varda thrust the key into the lock, twisted it, and was through the Door of Night in a moment. She leaned against it, taking a deep breath, and then opened her eyes and smiled at Eärendil, who was staring down at her from his ship.

"I'm back," she said. "Have I been gone long?"

"Only three days," said Eärendil. "I practiced the Anthem of Sirion while I waited for you."

"Thank you for staying," said Varda. She stepped on board the ship again. "Could you take me home now, please?"

"Why, certainly," said Eärendil. "I can whistle the Anthem of Sirion for you, if you would like."

Varda realized unhappily that her return trip might feel a good deal longer than her conversation with Melkor.

**TBC...**


	16. No One Gets Anything Done

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Any similarities between the following plot developments and certain plot developments in _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince _are entirely coincidental. I read the six HP book _after _I worked out everything and wrote this chapter.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

'_Manwë and Varda are seldom parted...' _

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

Poor Legolas. His life never went right. After escaping from his insane father, he had made it to Rivendell, which should have been a place of safety for him. Alas, that was not to be. Legolas attracted trouble. Now he had antagonized Fëanor.

It was, quite possibly, the worst sort of trouble that he could have brought down on his own head.

Mandos had to admit to himself that he was fascinated. He wanted to know how Fëanor would persuade Legolas to leave Middle-earth. He expected that things would be unpleasant for Legolas, and that, if Legolas were wise, he would be heading for Valinor before nightfall. Or perhaps Fëanor would be more subtle in his attempt to solve the Legolas problem.

In the end, Fëanor chose a dramatic approach to broaching the subject. He grabbed the startled Legolas by the shoulders and hissed, "Go to Valinor".

It is hard to get less subtle than that.

"Er... why?" asked Legolas, because it was the first proper retort he could think of. He should be given due credit for being capable of speech while being pinned by Fëanor's fiery eyes.

"Because I don't like you," said Fëanor. This was true.

Elladan and Elrohir were doing their Cheerful Twin Act, and cracking jokes and being jovial in the face of nearly certain death. Mandos could already tell that they were going to be annoying. People who made jokes always annoyed him. (Glorfindel, at least, had the good sense to be cheerful without the jokes. It is a little known fact that this is possible.)

People disliked by Fëanor had good reason to flee for their lives. Unfortunately, Legolas did not realize that he was dealing with Fëanor. He thought that he was dealing with a lunatic, which was close to the truth, but not quite correct. Legolas tried to back away, proving that he was more than a pretty face: he was smart too. However, Fëanor refused to let go of his shoulders.

(Mandos thought that Legolas looked nearly as unsettled as the man in the pizza store had when Sauron had talked to him.)

"I'm warning you," said Fëanor in conclusion. He gave Legolas a brief but violent shake, let go of his shoulders, and strode out of the room. Everyone gawked after him in amazement. Mandos sipped his tea.

Once he had finished his tea and his scone, Mandos rose purposefully from his chair and went to talk to Glorfindel.

* * *

When Varda returned to Ilmarin, she found a caustic and annoyed Eönwë standing at the doorstep on her new welcome mat, rebuffing potential visitors with icy politeness. Apparently everything was in great upheaval. Manwë, certain that Varda's rash actions had been fueled by her distaste of salmon, was nearly frantic with worry. For three days, he had been looking for a second key to the Door in Mandos's office, but to no avail. If there was a second key, it had been carefully hidden. Manwë had repeatedly cursed Mandos for taking such thorough security measures, much to the horror of those nearby. Very few had realized that Manwë was capable of getting annoyed. 

"Of course," said Eönwë, as he concluded his description of the hectic past few days, "I don't suppose Lord Manwë will need the second key now."

"He certainly won't," said Varda. "I have returned, and I am alive and well."

"Should I fetch him?" asked Eönwë. He had been greatly harassed since Varda's disappearance, what with trying to calm down Manwë and keep order in Valinor, and now all he wanted was to go to Lórien and have a good night's sleep.

"Yes, please do," said Varda. She took her stars out of her pockets and returned them to their proper places in the sky. Then she went to the kitchen and made salmon sandwiches.

Manwë arrived in minutes, delighted to see his wife again. He swirled her around the kitchen and covered her with loving kisses. Varda thought that perhaps she should go missing more often.

Eventually she said, "We need to talk."

"All right, dearest," said Manwë. He was wondering what Varda had been doing in the Void for three days. He doubted she'd spent her time there complaining about all the salmon.

"I was speaking to Melkor," said Varda, who knew what Manwë was thinking. She smiled reassuringly at him. "I have had a certain theory for a while, and now I am sure it is correct. I wanted to ask him about it."

"You can't expect Morgoth to tell the truth," said Manwë.

"I didn't." Varda finished her sandwich and sat down across from her husband. "Tell me, if you were a Dark Lord, would you expect your minions to be loyal to you?"

"I suppose not..." said Manwë slowly. It was very difficult for him to imagine being a Dark Lord.

Varda nodded. "So, if you were suspicious and couldn't trust anyone, what would you do?"

Manwë thought for a while. "I do not know what I'd do," he admitted at last.

"That is why you would make a very bad Dark Lord," said Varda. (Manwë smiled at the compliment.) "This is what I think Melkor did: I think he put a little piece of his fëa in his most powerful minion. That way, he could watch him closely, and, at the same time, even control his actions somewhat."

"Would that be possible?" he asked.

"I think so. It would be rather cruel, maybe. I know that no proper Vala would do it. But Melkor was very powerful, and he could not trust anyone," said Varda. "It would be a wise precaution for him to have taken if he were strong enough to do such a thing."

"Do you have any proof?" asked Manwë.

"Not really," admitted Varda. "I know that Sauron hid when Eönwë told him to come back to Valinor. Eönwë says that Sauron had seemed repentant enough beforehand."

"The two of them are well practiced in deceit," said Manwë.

"True. But I think that Melkor didn't want the last piece of himself to fall into our hands," said Varda. "Probably Sauron only needed a little nudging, but Melkor must have been there. And when I questioned Melkor, he was hesitant to say anything about his successor."

"Then you're implying that Melkor knows what is happening in Middle-earth, because he can see it through Sauron's eyes," said Manwë.

Varda nodded. "That is indeed what I'm implying. And I'm implying that Melkor could have implanted some of his fëa in Vairë. She brings him dinner sometimes. She wouldn't know he was there, of course, but that doesn't matter."

"Then Morgoth has escaped!" said Manwë, drawing the inevitable conclusion.

Varda nodded again. "He found a way," she said.

* * *

"Glorfindel, I want you to stop flirting with my sister," said Mandos. He had some difficulties choking out the word 'flirting'. It was a word he had never used before. 

"I'm not flirting," said Glorfindel mildly, because he thought that perhaps he _was _flirting, and he did not want to sound too defensive.

Mandos scowled. Then he said, "Very well. I want you to stop associating with my sister."

Glorfindel began to get the vague impression that this was a serious matter. "Associating?" he asked carefully.

"You understand what the word means, don't you?" Mandos was being sarcastic. Sarcasm was one of the few joys of speaking. He liked that part.

"Yes!" said Glorfindel, sounding defensive. "You were speaking to Erestor, weren't you?" he asked, after a moment's thought.

Mandos nodded.

"He probably told you that I should do more work," said Glorfindel. "He probably told you a whole sob-story about how much he suffers because of me. About how he slaves away and no one cares."

Mandos nodded again.

"Why do you believe him then?" asked Glorfindel sulkily.

"I suspect that he has told some of the truth. Anyway, I do not like it when you flirt with my sister," said Mandos, getting back to his main topic of conversation.

"Your sister likes it, though," said Glorfindel.

All the candles in the room went out with a creepy puffing sound. (Mandos was very good at making candles all blow out at once. It was a talent that often came in handy in the Halls. Not only that, but Mandos liked the darkness. In his opinion, sunshine was nearly as annoying as Elladan and Elrohir's jokes.) Wind blew around outside in a mournful way. Glorfindel thought that he could hear sinister organ music playing in the background, but he attributed this to paranoia.

Mandos glowered at Glorfindel in the darkness for a moment, before deciding that perhaps Glorfindel had been sufficiently intimidated. He swept dramatically out of the room, much like Fëanor had, and said, over his shoulder, "Go and do some work, for once."

"Oh, all right," muttered Glorfindel. "There's nothing better to do anyway."

* * *

Mandos went to the library. He wondered if there was anything good there to read. 

Mandos decided that since the library was quite large, and since he had a few thousand years to spend in Middle-earth anyway, he might as well start at one end of the library, and read his way to the other end. It was a good plan.

The first book on the end that Mandos selected went under the promising title of _Advanced Mathematics_. It was small, thin, and rather dejected and shabby. Still, Mandos liked the logic and rules of mathematics, so he was pleased with it.

Mandos was pleased with it up until the moment when he started reading it. He learned very quickly that Elves were not mathematically-minded. In a half-hearted stab at advancement, the author of the book tried to explain the concept of negative numbers, but failed miserably. Mandos got the impression that the author had realized he was failing miserably, because the explanation grew more and more sheepish as it went on. Eventually the author began to sound apologetic, as though he were very sorry that he had to even bring up such a horrible subject. The explanation dragged on, muddled and miserable, until Mandos stopped reading it, out of pity. And Mandos rarely had pity on _anything_.

When Mandos looked up, he saw eyes watching him from over the top of a shelf. This was very startling, but Mandos barely blinked. Though all he could see were eyes, and some glossy black hair, there was no doubt in his mind that they belonged to the gloomy Elf from the dining hall. Mandos saw that some books had been placed on the top of the shelf and surmised that Erestor had climbed up a ladder to put the volumes back in their place.

"Well?" asked the possessor of the eyes. "Did you speak with him?"

It was definitely Erestor. Mandos said, "Yes."

The eyes stared over the top of the shelf at Mandos, unblinking. Eventually the disembodied voice asked, "Was he apologetic?"

"No."

"That's a good sign," said Erestor's voice, pleased. "When he apologizes, it means that he's thinking up ways to wriggle out of his duty."

Robes rustled as Erestor clambered a little higher up his ladder. He was now visible from waist upwards. He looked down at Mandos thoughtfully. "You could be my library assistant," he said.

"Really?" Mandos pondered the possibility. The library was dark, cool, and full of ancient wisdom. It was the sort of place he liked. It also contained Erestor, which made it less appealing, but surely such an Elf couldn't be gloomy _all_ the time, thought Mandos. He was making a grave mistake, forgetting that he had been gloomy for almost an eternity.

"Would you like to work here?" asked Erestor. "It's fun," he added sadly. He made it sound as though it were the only fun he was allowed to have.

"All right," said Mandos.

Erestor descended the ladder and disappeared behind the shelves again. Mandos could hear him shelving books vigorously. The Vala glanced down at _Advanced Mathematics _and winced. He couldn't bring himself to read any more of it. He got up and put it away.

As he was walking towards the feverishly industrious Erestor, Mandos glanced out into the hall and saw Glorfindel chatting merrily with Nienna again. Mandos could scarcely believe it. He had assumed that Glorfindel's less-than-wonderful memories of the Halls of Mandos would have been enough to get him to get away from Nienna as quickly as possible. It seemed that the intimidating tactic would not work. Not on Glorfindel.

Erestor came to stand beside the dumbfounded and dumbstruck Mandos, a stack of books in his arms. He looked smug.

"Told you it would take a Vala," he said.

**TBC... **


	17. Mandos on a Rampage

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

'_For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them...'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Fëanor was wandering through Rivendell, whistling. He had the smug, contented feeling that comes over one after one has just scared someone else half-witless. In fact, he had the smug, contented, _important _feeling that comes over one just after one has scared the Invincible Legolashalf-witless. He wanted to savor that feeling.

The feeling was short-lived. Fëanor entered a room and nearly banged into a serious little Elf that was shuffling papers one-handed whilst balancing several books on his arm and looking very preoccupied. All Third Age Elves were small and serious when compared with Fëanor, but none of the other Third Age Elves had reacted to Fëanor's presence quite in the way this one did.

"Eep!" said the serious little Elf, flinging himself backwards and throwing all his books and papers into the air. These gestures seemed entirely innocent and involuntary, but Fëanor was clunked over the head with a book nonetheless, much to his annoyance.

"What's the matter?" Fëanor demanded.

The Elf was lying in a serious little heap on the floor. Papers drifted downwards like leaves in the autumn.

Fëanor prodded the Elf, and the Elf groaned.

At that moment, and it was a very bad moment indeed, another Elf stepped into the room, saw a tall, dangerous Elf prodding his lord, and panicked. "Help! Murder! Murder!" he squealed, dashing out of the room. (In the end, nothing came of this plot development. No one ever paid attention to Lindir.)

Fëanor frowned. He shut the door and locked it. Then he bundled the Elf into a chair, stood back and stared at him for a few minutes, trying to remember if he'd seen him before.

The Elf woke up eventually. He stared up at Fëanor, looking like a small frightened mammal (perhaps a rabbit) whose life is flashing before its eyes. At last he said, "You must be Fëanor."

Fëanor was delighted at being recognized. He was also flattered that the sudden realization of his identity had actually made another Elf pass out in so spectacular a fashion. "Yes, I'm Fëanor," he said, sitting down in a seat across from the Elf. "How did you know?"

"Maglor looks a lot like you," said the Elf.

"Oh," said Fëanor. "You must be Elrond."

The Elf nodded. "Did he tell you about me?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, he tried to," said Fëanor. He remembered Maglor showing up in the Halls cooing about two wonderful Elflings and how they'd brought joy to his otherwise mundane existence, but he hadn't really been in the mood to hear about the 'little darlings'. Thousands of years in Mandos had not made him very sympathetic to sentimental driveling.

"Umm... what are you doing here?" asked Elrond, having run into a dead end with his last comment.

"Just visiting," said Fëanor. "With a few friends." He hated calling Mandos a friend. Hated it, hated it, hated it. He was going to have to make Mandos's life extra-miserable for this.

"That's... er... great," said Elrond. Trying to converse with the uncommunicative Fëanor was in the process of becoming the most terrifying experience of his life so far. "Oh, I seem to have dropped all my books," he added desperately.

"So you have," said Fëanor. "One hit me on the head."

"I'm so sorry!" cried Elrond. He leaped out of his chair and began picking up books as quickly as he could, apologizing under his breath.

"Did Maglor tell you much about _me_?" asked Fëanor.

"Er... oh yes... he did. Quite a bit," said Elrond frantically, scrabbling after the papers.

"May I ask what sort of things he told you?" asked Fëanor, having finally found a topic he wanted to stick with. "I mean, were the tales of my exploits happy bedtime stories, or were they more along the lines of 'get into bed this instant or I'll call for Dad and he'll chop you into pieces'?"

"Well..." said Elrond, striving to be diplomatic, because by being diplomatic he might live a little longer. "You lived a very... exciting... life."

Fëanor nodded. He had an expression of polite interest on his face, which is the most unnerving expression in the world. "They weren't happy bedtime stories," he said.

Elrond made a thankful noise in the affirmative.

"Well, Maglor always was ungrateful," said Fëanor. "I'll have to give him a bit of a talking to when I see him next. Doesn't appreciate the sort of things I went through for him. Nasty little brat."

Elrond was clinging to his books and papers as though they were his lifeline to reality. The fact was beginning to sink into his mind that Fëanor, the most dangerous, clever, and powerful Elf ever, was sitting in his study, ranting about his ungrateful son.

"I'm afraid," said Fëanor, "that I shall have to set a few things on fire. I hope you don't mind."

Elrond mumbled something about how he didn't mind.

"Good!" said Fëanor brightly. "Please excuse me, then."

As he exited the room, he pulled the cigarette lighter out of his pocket and gave it a little flick.

* * *

Mandos was on a rampage. When he caught Glorfindel, he was going to shred Glorfindel into small pieces and feed him to the crows. There was very little about Mandos that suggested how furious he was, since he was simply striding calmly after the fleeing Glorfindel, but he was furious indeed, and Nienna realized this. 

"Námo!" she yelled down the hall after her brother. "_I _was talking to _him_!"

Mandos halted. He did not want to shred Glorfindel unfairly. Mandos had never rampaged before, and he didn't want to make stupid mistakes during his first attempt. He ran his fingers through his hair (trees of Valinor, now he was picking up nervous habits) and turned back to face his sister. "Well, I suppose that's all right then," he said, lamely.

Nienna was not sure how to respond to that, so she smiled nervously and went after Glorfindel, to calm him down.

Mandos did not know why he felt so strongly about Glorfindel and Nienna. (He wondered if he had become over-protective due to being in an entirely new environment. He was not used to being in a hröa for this long, and, worst of all, he was beginning to get used to it, which bothered him.) Nienna had never showed any interest in Ulmo, despite various matchmaking attempts of varying desperation on the part of the other Valar, and she had ignored the Maiar completely, despite various matchmaking attempts of varying hopefulness on the part of the Maiar. Mandos was afraid that she would become fond of Glorfindel, because they'd have to leave eventually and go back to Valinor. Anyway, Glorfindel would be an extremely obnoxious brother-in-law.

"I suppose you could always speak to him again sometime," said Erestor glumly, standing the entrance to the library. "Your message might get through his thick skull after a while."

"Perhaps," said Mandos. He felt as glum as the Elf.

"I wouldn't count on it though," said Erestor, glummer still. He trudged back into the library, and Mandos followed after him.

If there was an equivalent to the Halls of Mandos on Middle-earth, it was the library of Rivendell. Under Erestor's careful patronage and hard work, it had become a dark, quiet, organized place, frequented by few and actively avoided by many. Erestor had some candles in a box to be used as reading-lights. He lent them only to the deserving, and grudgingly at that, hence the darkness. There were some beautiful and atmospheric cobwebs in the corners and there was so much dust floating in the air that eventually Erestor's hair had turned a kind of grey-black color, which people assumed was its natural shade.

Erestor looked slantwise at Mandos, and then asked, "Would you prefer to shelve books, or to write lists?"

Mandos said that he would prefer to write lists. He liked writing things. Soon he was sitting at a desk, copying out book-titles.

A shadow fell across the desk, and he looked up, irritated. Mandos did not like interruptions to his work.

Glorfindel was standing there, brazenly, bold as you like, grinning down at Mandos as if Mandos had never come close to strewing his limbs all over Imladris. "So, he put you to work, did he?" he asked. "He manages to get everyone to work themselves to the bone for him. Don't know how he does it."

"He does not manage it with everyone," said Mandos meaningfully.

"Sorry about your sister. I'll stop teasing you," said Glorfindel.

"That was an unexpectedly wise decision for you to make."

Glorfindel's eyes danced. "Would you like to watch Fëanor make Legolas's life miserable? He's at it right now."

* * *

While other pitiable shades spent their time trying desperately to avoid Tulkas, seven fëar hid half-under one of Vairë's tapestries, and discussed the shocking (but not unprecedented) disappearance of their father. 

"I wonder where he went," murmured Amras for the fifth time, thoughtfully yanking at translucent pinkish strands of his hair. (To their horror, the ghostly aspect of fëa-ness had done nothing for the hair color of Maedhros, Amrod and himself.)

"I think in this situation," said Maedhros, "we should be pondering whether Father _escaped _or just _disappeared_."

"If he had found some way to escape, would he not have taken us with him?" asked Maglor mildly. He had died only recently, when he had been eaten by Jaws in a freak accident off the coast of Lindon, and he had not yet become properly jaded about the Halls of Mandos. He acted as though he did not mind being dead.

Curufin snorted at Maglor's question. "Don't be so naïve, stupid," he said ungraciously. "I'm sure that our presence in the Halls was great incentive for Father to escape."

"Yes, Maglor," said Caranthir, "if you noticed, when we arrived here, Darling Dad didn't rush over to chat about the good old days."

"We _have _been rather obnoxious," said Amrod.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," said Amras.

"Just be quiet," growled Curufin. "Let the ones of us with _brains _do a little thinking."

"Do you think we actually have brains?" asked Maglor. "I mean, we're not exactly flesh and blood any more."

"Ugh... I never thought about that," said Celegorm disgustedly.

"Can we get back on topic?" asked Maedhros, but in vain.

"I think Finrod is looking at me funny," muttered Caranthir.

"Don't be so paranoid," snapped Celegorm. "He's not even facing you."

"Here comes your son, Curufin," said Maglor.

"Why is he coming over here? He hates me!" cried Curufin, desperately trying to wiggle more underneath the tapestry.

"Hello, uncles," said Celebrimbor jovially.

"Hello, Celebrimbor," chorused six of the seven sons of Fëanor, not quite so jovially.

"Why is Father lying on the ground half-under that tapestry?" asked Celebrimbor.

"He fell down," said Celegorm.

"Ah." Celebrimbor stroked his chin reflectively. Then he said, "Look what I have!" and waved a scrap of paper under Maedhros's nose, Maedhros being the Elf closest to him.

Maedhros took the proffered paper, and read it, his face blank with surprise. Then he said, urgently, "How did you get this?"

Celebrimbor smirked. "Never you mind that, uncle dear. I just want you to know that it's possible." He snatched the paper back and skipped off.

"What's possible?"

"What was that?"

"What's Celebrimbor up to now?"

"He has a certificate," said Maedhros, "a certificate that will allow him to get out of the Halls of Mandos with a new body."

"What!"

His brothers all stared at Maedhros in shock.

"How did he do that?" demanded Amrod.

"I have no idea."

"And he came over to taunt us!" Amras wailed. "The villainy!"

"He always was good at getting what he wanted," said Curufin reflectively. "But then" –he smiled– "he took after his father."

"I remember when you were little, Curufin," said Maedhros, "you were always getting things by looking cute and sad. It's no wonder you were known as 'the Crafty'."

"I always thought I was called that because I was good at crafts," said Curufin in surprise.

"Cute and sad," said Celegorm. "Can you still manage that?"

Curufin looked up at Celegorm with huge, misty eyes. His lower lip wobbled.

"Let's visit Nessa," said Maedhros.

**TBC... **


	18. Curufin the Cute

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing!

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

'_And after Celegorm Curufin spoke, more softly but with no less power...'_

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

It was an ordinary cigarette lighter, harmless in the hands of most Elves, since few of them could operate it, and none of those few had any evil purpose for it. In the hands of Fëanor, it was a powerful and dangerous weapon. (Though nearly everything is a powerful and dangerous weapon in the hands of Fëanor. He has that affect on things.)

Glorfindel could not help but admire the kinslayer for his ingenuity.

Legolas was not so admiring. He was 'freaking out', as Krystalynn might have put it, had she been watching the fascinating scene. Which means that he was trying to scramble out of a window and climb down a rock wall, all the while yelling, "No! Wait! Stop!"

Fëanor grinned. He looked as though he were genuinely having fun. Glorfindel was thankful that he had never seen Fëanor take part in a battle. It would have been far too traumatic an experience for him.

Fëanor had a large amount of Legolas's possessions collected in a pile in front of Imladris, and in plain view of everyone. He was setting one item on fire at a time, and adding it to the already swiftly burning blaze. Just in case Legolas was missing the point, Fëanor kept on telling him to go to Valinor. Legolas wasn't really paying attention.

Glorfindel had always rather liked Legolas. It was hard _not_ to like him. He was a quiet, unoffending Elf, clever, kind... and very good at archery.

Legolas apparently remembered that he was very good at archery, because he stopped trying to climb down the rock wall, and instead disappeared back into his bedroom. He reemerged holding a single arrow (all that was left of his supply, since Fëanor had his bow and was saving it to burn last), jumped out the window (Glorfindel held his breath, hoping that the Elf prince wouldn't land on the arrow and perish horribly), and raced across the grass to where Fëanor was standing.

"I think Fëanor is going to die again," remarked Glorfindel.

"He does belong in my Halls," replied Mandos. "As do you."

Nienna was standing next to them, looking very guilty. "Maybe I should not have suggested this idea to Fëanor," she said.

"It's too late for regrets," said Lórien fatalistically. It was hard not to be fatalistic while watching Fëanor dodging Legolas, who was trying to stab him with an arrow in a most unorthodox method.

After a while, Fëanor got bored with dodging Legolas and attacked him with the cigarette lighter instead. Glorfindel and the Valar all winced.

"Fëanor and I may belong in your halls," said Glorfindel, "but what about Legolas?"

"That's true... if Legolas dies, what will happen to history?" asked Nienna.

Mandos shrugged, which meant that he didn't know, but didn't want to say so.

"I think we should intervene," said Glorfindel. "Legolas is going to get burnt."

"I do not think we should intervene. It's too dangerous," said Nienna. "I don't want to be impaled."

Lórien nodded his agreement, but Glorfindel looked appalled. "Valar!" he cried, flinging up his hands in disgust. "You are always staying back where it's safe! You _never _interfere!"

"Would you honestly like it if we started messing with your lives?" asked Mandos.

"We'd like it if you started _saving _our lives!" said Glorfindel, jabbing Mandos in the chest with a sharp finger. Mandos was startled. He had never been jabbed so irreverently before.

"Oh, all right, then," said Lórien ungraciously. A moment later, Fëanor and Legolas both fell limply to the ground. "Happy, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel was not happy. He was horrified.

"They aren't dead, Glorfindel," said Nienna reassuringly. "He's just made them fall asleep. Lórien can do things like that."

Glorfindel gave Lórien a wary glance, and Lórien gave the Elf a creepy smile.

"Would you stilllike us to mess with your lives?" asked Mandos.

("You should see what _Mandos_ can do," Nienna whispered to Glorfindel.)

"You – you just ended that," said Glorfindel incredulously.

"I thought that was what you wanted me to do," retorted Lórien.

"It barely took two seconds," said Glorfindel.

"Don't you understand? The result of our intervention is always an anticlimax," said Mandos. "And that's why we let you handle your problems yourselves."

"It's more interesting for everyone that way," said Nienna.

* * *

fter Glorfindel had wandered away, still looking dazed and confused, Nienna commented, "I suppose we _do _have our powers after all."

"Some of them," said Lórien proudly.

"Personally, I'm happy not to be crying all the time," said Nienna.

Lórien and Mandos nodded. They had always hated it when Nienna cried. She had won all her arguments that way.

"But Mandos does not know the future any more," said Lórien.

"I think," said Mandos slowly, "if I knew what was going to happen, that would be an anticlimax as well."

* * *

Nessa was playing ping-pong when she heard a timid knock on her door. She set down her paddle, hurried behind her desk, picked up a pen, and called, "Enter," in what she hoped was an officious manner.

The door opened slowly. A tiny fëa shuffled into the room. Of course, all the fëar were small. If they were as big as Valar, then there wouldn't be enough space for them in Mandos Halls.

"Hello," said Nessa.

"Good day, Lady Nessa," said the fëa.

"You don't look very happy," observed Nessa.

"I'm not," said the fëa softly. It came forward and stood in front of her desk. Unfortunately, its close proximity to the desk hid the fëa completely from view.

"Perhaps you should sit on top of my desk," suggested Nessa. The fëa complied, scrambling up a stack of papers. It straightened its ghostly robes and bowed politely. "So, why are you sad?" asked Nessa kindly.

The fëa sat down, cross-legged, and looked up at her mournfully. "My name is Curufin," he said. "I have been in the Halls of Mandos for a long time."

Nessa nodded. It had probably been only a few thousand years, but apparently thousands of years felt like a long time to the fëar.

"And I—" began the fëa. He got choked up and had to try again."I miss the—"

"You miss the what?" Nessa's tone was soft and maternal.

"The— the stars!" wailed the fëa, and burst into a flood of piteous tears.

Nessa's heart melted. She suddenly understood why Nienna had been crying all the time. Surrounded by such tragedy, how could she do otherwise?

"There, there," she said soothingly. "It will be all right. Tulkas will read you some knock-knock jokes, and you'll feel much better."

"No!" cried the fëa, staring up at her in horror. Then he wiped the tears from his eyes, shakily, and said, "No, please, knock-knock jokes make me sad too."

"Why?"

Curufin wrung his hands in embarrassment, and then whispered, "They remind me of my mother... and I haven't seen her in eight thousand years!" He burst into tears again.

Nessa blinked rapidly, feeling rather teary-eyed herself. She began to wonder if the fëa might drown itself accidentally. "I could get you out of the Halls of Mandos," she said, "give you a body again, and let you live a new life."

"R-really?"

Nessa patted his head reassuringly. "Yes, my dear. Would you like that?"

"Oh, I'd be ever so grateful!" cried the fëa, jumping to its feet. For a moment she thought it was going to hug her, but, given their respective sizes, this feat would have been near impossible. The fëa seemed to realize this, because it gave her a tremulous smile instead.

Nessa got out some paper. Mandos had provided a large file full of certificates for fëar who were to be given bodies again. "This form has to be signed by Manwë as well as myself," Nessa said, scribbling her name on the line reserved for the 'keeper of the Halls'.

"All right. Thank you," said the fëa. Then it sheepishly traced a circle on the desk with its foot. "I was wondering, good Lady Nessa, if you would provide certificates for my brothers as well. I could not be happy in Valinor without them."

"I suppose I could manage that," said Nessa. "How many brothers do you have?"

"About five or six," said the fëa.

"I see," said Nessa. "So... would that be five or six?"

"Six," said the fëa.

"What are their names?" asked Nessa, pulling out six more certificates.

"Amrod, Maglor, Caranthir, Maedhros, Celegorm and Amras," said Curufin rapidly.

The names sounded vaguely familiar. Nessa frowned. Curufin held his breath. "Nice names," she said at last, filling out the forms. "What are the names of your mother and father?"

"Nerdanel and— and—"

"And?"

"Oh trees, I've forgotten!" cried the fëa in dismay.

"Forgotten?"

"Yes," moaned the fëa. "Isn't it terrible? To forget the name of one's own father! I have been in the Halls of Mandos for so long that I can't remember!"

He did seem terribly distressed. Nessa was afraid he'd start crying again. "Don't worry," she said hastily. "I can mark down that you don't remember. I'm sure Manwë will understand."

The fëa nodded wordlessly. Nessa handed him the seven certificates. "There," she said. "I hope you go on to live a happy life."

"Thank you so much! Thank you!" The fëa did an adorable dance of joy, while Nessa beamed at it happily, feeling glad to have passed on a little cheer. Then the fëa jumped off the desk, scampered across the room, and hurried out the door.

* * *

Curufin emerged triumphantly, and found that his brothers were not waiting calmly outside the door for him as he had anticipated. Instead, they were standing in a circle, watching Celegorm and Dior, who were trying to strangle each other (a futile attempt, since, being dead, they couldn't actually kill each other again). Curufin caught Maedhros's eye, and the other fëa sidled over.

"Did you get them?" asked Maedhros.

"Don't you trust your little brother?" asked Curufin, grinning. "Here's yours."

"Thanks," said Maedhros, taking the paper. "How did you manage to avoid bringing up Father's name?"

"I said I'd forgotten it. Lady Nessa was very understanding," replied Curufin.

"And I was nearly missing Mandos!" exclaimed Maedhros. "We could not have done this if he had still been around."

"What happened to him anyway?"

"I don't know. Maybe he got fired." Maedhros shrugged. "I don't really care. Just as long as he's not constantly breathing down our necks."

"Ah, but for all we know, he might have a _new _job," said Curufin. "We're going to be running loose in Valinor, after all. Mandos might show up again."

"Perish the thought," said Maedhros.

Curufin glanced back at Celegorm and Dior. "Who's winning?"

"Dior, when last I looked."

"Then maybe we should retrieve Celegorm and get out of here," said Curufin.

Maedhros nodded, and started towards the two combatants.

"You know, we can't all try to leave the Halls at once," said Curufin, halting him. "Manwë would get suspicious."

"We could go in groups," said Maedhros. "Amrod, Amras and I could go together, you could go with Celegorm, and Maglor could go with Caranthir."

"Caranthir won't like that," said Curufin. "He thinks Maglor is pathetic. Always panicking about whether killing other Elves is 'right' or not. You know. That kind of stuff."

Maedhros nodded. "Did you know," he said softly, "that after the Kinslaying at Sirion, Maglor became a vegetarian?"

Curufin looked blank. "What's that?" he asked. "Someone who worships turnips?"

"No," said Maedhros. "It's someone who only eats vegetables."

Curufin stared. "You're joking," he said.

Maedhros shook his head. "I wouldn't joke about something like that," he said.

"I cannot believe I'm related to him," said Curufin. "Ironic, though."

"Ironic?"

"He won't eat animals, but animals apparently have no problem with eating _him_," said Curufin.

"Ungrateful little blighters," said Maedhros, grinning. "Come on. Let's save Celegorm."

**TBC... **


	19. Merry Sues in Riverdale

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for all of the reviews!

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER NINETEEN

'_Then Fëanor laughed as one fey, and he cried:..."Let the ships burn!" Then Maedhros alone stood aside, but Fëanor caused fire to be set to the white ships of the Teleri.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

"Who _were_ those freaks?" asked Amanda-Lynn.

"I'm not opening the door," said Krystalynn nervously. She had been in her bedroom all morning, unsure of what to do. She had a feeling that it would be beneficial to read the _Lord of the Rings _books. Maybe they had an abridged version somewhere.

"That little one really did look like Harry Potter," said Amanda-Lynn dreamily. "At least, how _I've _always imagined him. And that man – maybe he was Sirius Black!" she squealed suddenly, overcome with the thought.

"Er... I really don't think he was Sirius Black," said Krystalynn. "He said his name was Mandos. I mean, his brother said that. Mandos didn't really talk much."

"His brother? Are you sure it was his brother? Maybe it was Lupin!" cried Amanda-Lynn.

"No, his name was Lórien," said Krystalynn. She thought Amanda-Lynn was a bit desperate.

"Where did they come from?" demanded Amanda-Lynn through the door.

"Er... well... from my closet," said Krystalynn.

To her shock and horror, her sister believed her at once. "Of course!" said Amanda-Lynn ecstatically. "They were trying to come to me, but they ended up in the wrong closet!"

"Harry Potter isn't real," said Krystalynn.

"How do you know?"

Krystalynn was silent as she considered this scary thought. After all, she had seen Legolas that morning with her own two eyes. Why should the people of Middle-earth be the only other fictional characters who truly existed?

"Oh, I'm so excited!" cried Amanda-Lynn. "Please, please let me look at your closet! I promise not to hurt you."

Krystalynn opened the door a crack, and her sister hurried into the room. She peered eagerly into the closet, as though expecting to see a variety of witches and wizards looking back at her. To Krystalynn's relief, but Amanda-Lynn's great disappointment, the closet was empty.

Krystalynn turned back to her computer, and suddenly realized that its powers were still hers, still at her fingertips. And there was her sister, in her room, in her closet... looking for Harry Potter.

Krystalynn's face was lit up by a smile that could only reasonably be described as 'evil'. She sat down at her computer and began surreptitiously typing out a few paragraphs.

_Amanda Lynn was a harry Potter fan_, she typed rapidly, her fingers fumbling over the keys in her haste. _She was lookgihn foar a portal in her sistres closet. But little did she know there really was a portal, and it didnt lead to Hogwo3rts. It lead to Middle Earth. _

_Suddenly the portal opened kup and Amanda Lynn fell itno it. _

Krystalynn held her breath, and heard her older sister emit a small gasp. When the girl turned around, Amanda-Lynn was no longer in her bedroom. She was gone.

There was nothing more that Krystalynn could do. As she had already learned when her own story had come true, the personality of her sister would determine what happened to her. Krystalynn imagined that it wouldn't be very fun, judging by her sister's personality.

Krystalynn opened a new document, and started writing a new story.

_Once upon a time there was a beautiful Elf Miaden called Krystalynn. She was the daughter of lord Elronde and was much more beautiful than her sister Arwen._

_That morning she was eating breckfast in Rivendale... _

* * *

The morning after the incident with Fëanor and the cigarette lighter, Mandos woke up in the land of Riverdale. The birds outside were singing with such fullness and fervor that further sleeping was instantly made impossible. Mandos did not feel like sleeping, fortunately. Something was very wrong, and he knew that he had to determine what it was as soon as possible. Or else they were all doomed. 

He hurried down the halls of Riverdale, and nearly collided with Nienna, who was dashing towards him from the opposite direction. "I don't know what's happened!" cried Nienna. "My room is suddenly decorated in shades of _pink_! And the name of this place has changed!"

Mandos nodded. "I remember Manwë saying something about names changing," he said. "He didn't say anything about what happened to the decor, though."

Lórien emerged from another hall. "Quick! Come to the breckfast hall!" he said, beckoning frantically, and his two siblings hurried after him.

They halted in the doorway to the breckfast room, eyes widening and jaws dropping. The sight that met them was unexpected, to say the least, though they had been prepared for somethingawful. At first glance, it was a peaceful, domestic scene. At second glance, it was the perfect setting for a nightmare.

Elronde was sitting in his usual spot at the table, and beside him sat his two daughters, Arwen and Krystalynn. Catastrophe loomed on the near horizon.

"Elronde?" Nienna muttered under her breath. "What is this place now? Ye Olde Elven Realme?"

"He has two daughters!" exclaimed Lórien. He pointed, as though Mandos needed help in identifying the imposter.

"It's that girl from 'Earth'," said Mandos grimly. "We should have realized that eventually she would use her computer device for her own gain."

"What do we do?" wailed Lórien.

"What _can_ we do?" asked Nienna, less panicky and more practical.

"Nothing that we have not done already," said Mandos. "We have created the safe place so that the people of Middle-earth will not have to undergo this sort of thing in the future."

Lórien and Nienna looked disappointed. They would have liked to do something nice and drastic that would send Krystalynn sprinting for cover. Their policy on nonintervention was nearly forgotten.

"Jennifer told me about girls who come into this world and mess up everything," said Nienna. "They're called Merry Sues."

"Why are they merry?"

"Because they like to mess things up, I suppose." Nienna tucked stray strands of hair behind her ears. "They're deadly, Jennifer said."

"Maybe we should confront her," suggested Lórien. "Maybe if she feels guilty, she'll leave."

"I don't think she'll feel guilty any time soon," said Nienna dryly.

Krystalynn was buttering her toast and fluttering her eyelashes at Legolas, who was sitting across the breckfast table from her. Krystalynn, though still recognizable as the girl the Valar had met in Earth, was far more beautiful than – well, more beautiful than anyone currently living. Arwen paled in comparison, and she clearly knew it, because she was glaring resentfully at her plate.

Nienna sighed. "There's no way Legolas is going to leave Middle-earth now, no matter what Fëanor does to him. He's smitten."

"Your plan was worth a try, Nienna," said Mandos. "We'll just have to wait."

"Maybe if we killed Krystalynn, Legolas wouldn't have a reason to live in Middle-earth any more," suggested Nienna.

"That seems rather... vicious," said Mandos thoughtfully. He reminded himself that sometimes vicious measures were necessary measures.

"Oh dear," gasped Nienna after a few moments of silence. "If Legolas is awake now, what is Fëanor doing?"

Fëanor is Middle-earth's most famous pyro. Though he is more well-known for creating the silmarilli, all Elven school-children remember his rather unnecessary command to burn the Teleri ships. Fëanor likes fire.

The Valar knew that all too well.

Suddenly Krystalynn didn't seem like such a cause for worry. The Valar exchanged horrified glances and rapidly dispersed.

* * *

Vicious measures are indeed necessary measures sometimes. This Vána fervently believed. So when Vairë announced that an unexpected visitor had arrived in Middle-earth and was wooing Legolas, Vána suffered from no moral dilemmas. 

"That is perfectly fine," she said. "You know what to do."

Vairë nodded tiredly. "Mary-Sue parody?" she asked.

A slow smile spread across Vána's face. "Yes," she said, "I love Mary-Sue parodies."

She wandered off to sing with the birds.

* * *

Bonnie-Bell was Annoyed. She had arrived in Middle-earth expecting its miserable inhabitants to greet her with cheers and Heartfelt Gratitude. She was, after all, the One who had been Sent to save them. She deserved All the Praise they could give Her. 

Alas, they were ignoring Her. Instead of Swooning over the Irresistible Bonnie-Bell, Legolas was Swooning over someone else.

Bonnie-Bell scowled at Legolas from across the room. And She scowled at the beautiful girl who was Flirting with Legolas.

"Who are you?" asked a Plain Elf-maiden, looking up from her breckfast.

"I," said Bonnie-Bell, "am Bonnie-Bell. I have Come to Save you all. Where is the welcoming Committee?"

The Elf-maid blinked. "It must have gotten lost," she said.

"So I see," sniffed Bonnie-Bell.

"Oh, Leggy! The things you say!" squealed the other girl. Bonnie-Bell and the Elf-Maid both Winced as though in Pain.

"Please excuse me, Bonnie-Bell," said the Elf-maid. She got up and left the room quickly.

Bonnie-Bell watched her go. "This place is Weird," She muttered.

* * *

Nienna dashed around the corner and nearly ran into her brothers. "Take a deep breath, you two," she said, her eyes wide, "because I have some bad news for you." 

Lórien obediently took a deep breath, but Mandos used his deep breath to ask, "Well?"

"There's a new girl here!"exclaimed Nienna. "Her name is Bonnie-Bell. She is clearly a teenage girl from that other world."

"That's not _too _bad," said Mandos, who was beginning to see things in perspective at last.

"The other bit of bad news is that Legolas's bedroom is on fire," said Nienna.

Mandos looked as though he were about to say something savage, but then he snapped his mouth shut and sprinted down the hall.

Lórien and Nienna watched, their slack jaws swaying in the breeze. Mandos did not often sprint.

"Do you think this world has done something to his head?" asked Nienna.

"I really hope not," said Lórien.

Lórien and Nienna galloped after him.

At last they reached the end of the long hall. Mandos flung open a door, and froze.

Arwen looked up from where she was drowning Krystalynn in a basin of water. "Oh, it's you," she said.

Krystalynn fell to the ground and lay there, gasping for breath.

"What are you doing?" shrieked Nienna.

"Dealing with my 'sister'," said Arwen darkly. "Sibling rivalry, and all that." She prodded Krystalynn with her foot. "You imposter!"

Krystalynn flopped around, like a fish glad to be out of water.

"So, why were you three running around?" asked Arwen.

"Legolas's bedroom is on fire," said Lórien.

"I'd better bring the basin of water with me, then," said Arwen.

* * *

"Was that the sort of parody you had in mind?" asked Vairë. She was rather surprised at how vicious Arwen had proved to be. 

"Well, she didn't _die_," said Vána. "Bonnie-Bell actually bothered to book her trip in advance. She shouldn't have to deal with a competitor."

"Meaning that I have to think up some way to kill Krystalynn?" asked Vairë.

Vána nodded.

Vairë thought for a moment. Then she said, "Have we done anything involving... monkeys... yet?"

"No," said Vána. "But monkeys sound good."

Vairë began to weave again.

**TBC... **


	20. Acts of Necessity and Mercy

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you all for your reviews!

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER TWENTY

'_Last of all is set the name of Melkor, He who arises in Might. But that name he has forfeited...' _

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

The following is an account of how Melkor came to possess Luthy's computer:

When Sauron had been summoned to the world 'Earth', Melkor had come along as well. Sauron, while converted to the Valar's side, had not felt like mentioning that Melkor was watching everything that went on around him. The Greater Dark Lord (as Melkor liked to call himself) had watched and waited until he had a good idea of the situation, then in Luthy's apartment he had quit Sauron's mind and entered Luthy's computer, sensing its power and desiring to put it to evil use.

After spending some minutes acquainting himself with the computer, Melkor sent Luthy his first message, in the form of one of those annoying pop-up things.

**_Attention!_** it said. **_This computer is henceforth and forthwith the property of Melkor (He-Who-Arises-In-Might), the Constrainer, the Great Death, Dark Foe of the World, Lord of the Earth, Etc. Thou, Lúthien Tinúviel, hast been selected for his service. Rejoice! _**

Luthy stared at her computer screen blankly. "Is this a joke? Or some weird computer virus, maybe?" she muttered to herself.

_**Fool! Melkor the Mighty joketh not!**_

Luthy looked blanker than ever. Melkor thought about moving from the computer to something else, but decided against it. He would win the young woman over eventually, though more forceful means might become necessary to persuade her.

"Uh... can you hearme?" she asked.

_**No. I'm reading your lips. **_

Somehow, Luthy remembered to breathe.

**_Of course I can hear you, you imbecilic mortal!_** said Melkor's next message.**_ No self-respecting Dark Lord would sink so low as to read _your_ lips. _**

Luthy gaped. Melkor wondered if he had made a joke. He hoped not. He hoped that if he hadmade a joke, Luthy would not notice.

**_Worship me!_ **Melkor commanded, so as to distract Luthy from the possible joke.

"How?" asked Luthy.

Melkor really hated this woman. It was a pity that he would have to use her to accomplish his ends. He decided to get to the point.

**_Never mind about the worshiping, scum_** he said, by way of the annoying pop-up thing. **_I want you to write me back into my full power._**

"Write you?"

_**Yes. The way you wrote away Fëanor's lust for his Silmarils, and the way you cured everyone of their petty injuries. **_

"I – I can't do that," said Luthy.

**_You _will _do that! If you do not, I will render your computer inoperable_** snarled Melkor. He had found the more scary fonts in her computer, and he was making good use of them.

To show Luthy what he was capable of doing, Melkor froze her computer. (These were the more forceful means.) Everything jammed. Morgoth made the screen go blue and dead.

Luthy wailed in horror and despair. "I'll do anything!" she said, when she was capable of speech.

_**Good. Now get to work. **_

Melkor eased his control of her computer, and the blue, dead screen went away. Trembling, Luthy opened her writing program, and typed quickly as Melkor dictated.

_It was the dawning of a bright new millennium, a beautiful, clear day, when Melkor cast off the makeshift shackles of the lesser Valar, and returned to Middle-earth..._

* * *

Monkeys surrounded Riverdale, smashing Elrond's fine china teapot collection, terrifying the Elvish inhabitants of the fair realm, and departing with Krystalynn. 

A few minutes later, it was as though Krystalynn had never been there. The birds grew less noisy, Elrond's name went back to normal, and Rivendell was peaceful and quiet once more.

Mandos, Lórien, Nienna, and Arwen barely noticed. They were sprinting to Legolas's room. On the way, they met Glorfindel, who was wandering down the hall, eating an apple and humming. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Legolas's bedroom is on fire!" screamed Nienna over her shoulder as she passed him. "We have to put it out!"

"I don't really like fire," said Glorfindel pathetically. No one heard him, since they were all long gone. Glorfindel didn't know what to do. He just stood there for a while, eating his apple absentmindedly and trying not to panic.

Meanwhile, Arwen and the Valar were standing in the doorway to Legolas's bedroom. They were watching Bonnie-Bell seduce Legolas. Legolas looked as though he'd been hit over the head with heavy, blunt object. So did Arwen and the Valar.

"Oh, Legolas," said Bonnie-Bell breathily.

"Oh, Valar!" swore Arwen.

The Valar snapped out of their respective dazes. Mandos cleared his throat and said, "Unhand Legolas, Merry Sue."

Bonnie-Bell whirled around. "Mary Sue?" she shrieked. "How dare you call Me a Mary Sue! My character is Completely in-canon! Don't you agree, Legolas?"

Legolas was still only semi-conscious.

Arwen upended the basin of water over Legolas's head.

While Legolas was spluttering in confusion, Nienna gazed about at the devastation. Some of Legolas's bedroom _had _been on fire. But someone had put the fire out. Probably the Merry Sue had used her powers to do that.

Still, the most important question was: Where was Fëanor?

"Where is Fëanor? Have you seen him?" Nienna asked the Merry Sue.

Bonnie-Bell tossed her head back indignantly. Her hair swept about like hair in a shampoo commercial. "Fëanor? Was he the one with a cigarette lighter?"

"Probably," said Lórien.

"Here I am," said Fëanor. He crawled out from under the bed.

"What where you doing under the bed?" asked Nienna.

"I fell down," said Fëanor.

Mandos grabbed Fëanor by the back of his robe and hurried him out of the room.

"Would you do something for me, Fëanor?" he asked quietly.

"Er... what?" asked Fëanor.

"I would like you to... um... I'm not sure how to put this..." Mandos took a deep breath, valiantly resisting the urge to start chewing on his knuckle or begin twisting his hair around his finger. "Could you... well... kill Bonnie-Bell?"

"It would be a pleasure," said Fëanor.

"Just do it quickly," mumbled Mandos.

Fëanor smirked. "Do you realize how much blackmailing material you are providing me with?"

"Yes," said Mandos. "Do you realize how unpleasant your life, and _afterlife_, would be if you tried to blackmail me?"

"Yes," said Fëanor.

Fëanor took out one of his several hidden knives. He went back into the room, slipped dramatically, and fell forward. The knife accidentally got stuck in Bonnie-Bell.

Bonnie-Bell gave a gurgle and disappeared.

Fëanor picked the bloodless knife off the floor. "Oops," he said. "I fell down again."

"Oh dear," said Legolas. He stared at the place where Bonnie-Bell had stood moments before.

Nienna got over her shock. She went to stand beside Legolas, her best sympathetic expression on her face. "I suppose you have no real reason to stay in Middle-earth any more," she said. "You should go to Valinor."

Legolas nodded. "That sounds like a good idea," he said. "I'll go and make a boat in Ith—"

Suddenly a man was standing in their midst. The Valar could have sworn that he had not been there two seconds ago, but it was hard to be sure. The man smiled rakishly at all of them, and then said, "Legolas! Would you like to go on a hunting trip?"

Mandos, Lórien, and Nienna goggled at the man in sheer disbelief.

Arwen simply stared at him, with a strange expression on her face.

"Quick! Quick! Cover her eyes!" hissed Mandos. "Arwen can't see Aragorn yet! That would destroy history entirely!"

Nienna flung herself in front of Arwen so that Aragorn wouldn't see her. Lórien rapidly put Arwen to sleep, catching her as she fell towards the ground.

"Nicely done," said Mandos in approval.

"Aragorn!" cried Legolas, who had not noticed the frenzied activity in the corner. "What are you doing here?"

("He's not supposed to be here," muttered Mandos. "Not for two thousand more years.")

"Oh," said Aragorn merrily, "you know how I get around, Legolas. I've just returned from a lengthy stay in Gondor."

"It's great to see you again!" said Legolas.

Aragorn was a tall, ruggedly handsome man, who sported several mild injuries and a few attractive scars. A sword was at his side, and his clothes were filthy. He looked quite young, innocent, and reckless.

"What were you saying about a hunting trip?" asked Legolas.

"No!" cried Nienna. "You were going to go to Valinor!"

"Why?" asked Legolas.

"Because you had no more reason to live in Middle-earth!" cried Nienna.

"Don't know why I said that," said Legolas. "I have lots of reasons to live in Middle-earth, Aragorn being one of them. After all, I have so much fun fighting evil by his side."

"What about the suffering?" asked Nienna, her tone growing steadily more desperate. "What about the pain and hardship?"

Legolas chuckled. "A little pain never hurt anyone," he said stoically.

"What about the torture?" asked Nienna.

"It's nothing I'm not used to," said Legolas. "Come on, Aragorn, let's get our hunting gear!"

Aragorn and Legolas hurried off, talking to each other excitedly. Fëanor and the Valar watched them go.

"Do you feel as though everything and everyone are suddenly conspiring against us?" asked Nienna pensively, after a few minutes of dejected silence.

"Yes," replied Fëanor, "but I feel like that all the time."

* * *

Vairë had been very busy. She had sent monkeys to kill Krystalynn. She had sent Aragorn to distract Legolas. But she had not saved Bonnie-Bell. The girl had had her chance, and she would not be given another one. There were enough girls waiting for Legolas. 

Anyway, Vairë had not had the heart to resurrect Bonnie-Bell after Fëanor had killed her so beautifully.

Vairë was still weaving when someone called her name.

She turned, and her eyes narrowed as Manwë and Varda entered her hall. "I've been waiting for you to come," she said, standing up and advancing towards them. She did not want either of them to look at her loom and see what she was doing to history at that moment. "What were you thinking of, Varda? You should not have entered the Timeless Void!" she cried.

"Apparently you do it all the time," responded Varda evenly.

"Yes, but I'm Mandos's spouse," said Vairë. "I'm allowed to do that sort of thing. What if Melkor had attacked you?"

"What if he had attacked _you_?"

"With what? The mashed potatoes?"

Manwë decided it was time to interrupt their little squabble. "Vairë," he said, "my wife was investigating something. She would not enter the Void frivolously."

"Oh. Well, I suppose that makes it all right then," said Vairë, pursing her lips in annoyance. "Just as long as you're not doing it 'frivolously'. Can't handle frivolity, personally."

"Do you trust me?" asked Manwë suddenly.

Vairë's eyes narrowed even more. "I don't trust people who have to ask that question," she said, taking a step backward and nearly tripping over the loom.

"I suppose that's wise," said Manwë. Before Vairë could move again, he had her by the arms and was holding her still, while staring hard into her wide eyes.

It only took a moment for Manwë to check for signs of Melkor. When he was done, he courteously helped Vairë sit down, and turned back to Varda. "He's not there," he said.

Varda gave a sigh of relief. "Perhaps I was only being paranoid," she said.

"I don't think so," said Manwë. "I think you have hit on the truth. Only he's not in Vairë."

"Who, then?" asked Varda. She was fighting a mixture of disappointment because they had not caught Melkor yet, and gladness because she had not wanted Vairë to be the one possessed by the Dark Lord.

Vairë had been listening to the conversation. Now she asked, "What are you talking about? Who is where?"

"Morgoth," said Manwë. "Varda and I think he escaped –partially– by mixing a bit of his fëa with the fëa of someone else."

"And I was your first suspect?" asked Vairë hotly.

"Only because it was known that you occasionally visited him."

Vairë was very quiet for a long moment. At last she said, with an effort, "Manwë, I have been tampering with history. Reweaving it."

Varda looked startled, but Manwë merely nodded. "I know," he said.

"You know?" Vairë gaped at him. Though she had imagined a multitude of replies to her confession, this one had not been among them.

Manwë nodded again, being very patient. "I know lots of things," he said.

"You knew, and you sent Námo, Irmo and Nienna off to another world anyway?"

"Yes," said Manwë. "You see, you may be reweaving history, but you are not completely to blame. Someone else is making it happen. Someone outside this world. That was why I sent your husband to 'Earth' to look for the real culprits."

Vairë was still gaping. She slowly shut her mouth.

"I hoped that you would... guide history," continued Manwë. "At least keep it going along the right track. You won't be able to stop every change, but you can prevent some of them."

Vairë nodded, remembering when she had rewoven the events in Mirkwood so as to keep Mandos's head where it belonged. "Why did you not tell me? Why did you not confront me?"

Manwë shrugged. "I don't like confronting people," he said.

"What do you call grabbing me and staring in my eyes?" asked Vairë.

Manwë gave her a disarming smile. "An act of necessity and mercy," he said. "Don't you feel happier now?"

Vairë shook her head mutely.

"Don't worry. You'll feel happier sooner or later," said Manwë. "Now Varda and I shall leave you to your weaving."

Long after they were gone, Vairë picked up her shuttle and started weaving again. Her mouth quirked in a smile as she glanced down at the emerging tapestry. She _was _starting to feel a little happier, now that she didn't feel guilty.

"Sauron," she murmured to her tapestry, "I don't often feel sorry for you... but you are in for a few unpleasant surprises."

**TBC... **


	21. Return of the Shadow

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"'_Some here will remember that many years ago I myself dared to pass the doors of the Necromancer in Dol Guldur, and secretly explored his ways, and found thus that our fears were true: he was none other than Sauron, our Enemy of old, at length taking shape and power again.'" _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Fellowship of the Ring'_

Nienna had made a mistake when it came to the whereabouts of a certain Dark Lord. Even Mandos had not noticed her error, though this was because he had been thinking about different matters, while recovering from being attacked by a spider. Of course, Nienna's knowledge of the history of Middle-earth was sketchy at best, but this was no real excuse.

Sauron was not in Mordor. He was in Mirkwood.

Sauron had disappeared the instant he stepped through the portal. This was because he was suddenly bodiless, no longer a ten year-old boy or an awe-inspiring, armor-clad Dark Lord, but only the essence of himself. He had nothing but his instincts left to guide him, and so he went to the coldest, darkest tower closest to him, which happened to be Dol Guldur. Sauron liked cold, dark places. They drew him irresistibly.

At the top of the tower of Dol Guldur, Sauron waited, brooding. Brooding is what Dark Lords do best.

He thought very little. There was nothing to think about. Plans could wait until later. For now, all he had to do was recover his strength without his Ring.

Many years passed. After a while, Sauron summoned the Nazgûl. He gave them orders and sent them to Mordor and Angmar, to make the world ready for his triumphant return. Now and then they came back with reports. The Lord of the Nazgûl was doing well; each decade the reports were better; the North-kingdom was nearly his. Then one year the Lord of the Nazgûl came limping back from Angmar, upset by his recent ignominious defeat and darkly amused by a certain prophecy concerning his demise. Sauron was not amused. He was furious. The Witch-king groveled apologetically and fled, to reclaim Mordor, establish a base in Minas Ithil, and to get get his revenge on Eärnur. He did this very well. Sauron forgave him nicely when he was informed that a palantír had been captured in the fall of Minas Ithil.

Sauron felt his power growing much faster after that.

Sauron did not sleep, but as he began to have time for things other than recuperating, he noticed something lying in the corner of his tower room. He knew that he had not paid much attention to his surroundings, because (he hated to admit it to himself) he had been too weak. He drifted over to the bundle, buffeted it, like a gust of wind, and watched the contents spill out.

Three books. A slip of paper, torn from something. A few coins, perfect disks of metal, with faces and other pictures engraved on them. Rectangular pieces of paper, colorful and beautifully printed. Sauron looked at these things, puzzled. He did not understand why they were there. Nor did he know what they had come in. It was strange and loosely knitted, a very odd shape, and it had large, over-bright flowers sewn on it. In the dark tower, it was very out of place.

The piece of paper seemed to have been torn from a book, because there was a sliver of a picture on one side. It was of a small, decently naked man, and he was holding a shoe. Sauron wondered if there was significance to this. He flipped the paper over, and on the other side was a message, composed in a childish scrawl. It looked as though it had been written with a waxy blue implement.

_I am writing this as a message to myself, _said the message_, because I don't think I'll remember anything that happened to me. I stole these books, and they contain very important information. They are written in a language called Inglish, which is much different from Black Speech. The Elves of Rivendell should be able to speak Inglish. I have marked Rivendell on the map in the books. Please have an Elf read me these books as soon as possible._

_Morgoth is gone, by the way. _

Sauron stared at the message, especially the footnote. He thought he could faintly remember writing this, but he was not sure. He could test to see if it were accurate. He was the only one who could tell if Morgoth was inside his mind. Usually he considered checking to be a waste of time, since he knew Morgoth was there, but today it was necessary.

He spent the next few hours searching ever nook and cranny of his mind for the essence of Morgoth. He found not a trace of the Vala's fëa.

This was strange, and puzzling. He could not think why Morgoth had left. But it meant that he had written the message, and it meant that the rest of the message must be true as well.

Sauron turned to the books, flipping the first one open. It contained pictures of strange metal contraptions. They had wheels, which indicated that they were for transport, and they looked very strong. Sauron flipped the pages, fascinated. Detailed diagrams showed how the machines worked.

"I could build one of these," he thought. "They could pull my war machinery much better than any beast."

He opened the next book, and there was a map. A place on the map had been circled in blue. Sauron would have smiled, if he'd had a mouth to smile with. He had been searching for the Elven haven, Rivendell, for many years, but had not known its exact location. Now he knew.

It was time to create a hröa for himself.

Unfortunately, something went very wrong.

* * *

His hröa made, Sauron stood in his tower and tried to figure out what had happened. He stared at his hands, unsurprised by his nine fingers (he had known that he would never be able to regrow his missing ring-finger), but confused because his hands were so small. They should not have been small. Sauron had been trying to create a tall, dangerous, malevolent hröa. He had failed.

It wasn't only his hands that were small. _All_ of Sauron was small. Sauron was so small that when he went to the window to look out over Mirkwood, he had to stand on his tip-toes to get a good view.

Sauron came to the inevitable conclusion. His power had diminished due to the loss of his Ring, and now he was only capable of wearing the body of a child. A young child. He was about nine or ten years old, he guessed.

He wouldn't be able to loom scarily over his Ringwraiths any more. He wouldn't be able to loom scarily over _anyone _worth looming scarily over

Sauron called for his Ringwraiths anyway. He managed not to take a nervous step backwards when they entered the room. They were tall. _They_ loomed scarily over _him_. It just wasn't right.

The Ringwraiths stared silently down at Sauron. They were confused about his height, but they were also too polite to ask why he was half their size. Sauron scowled up at them. "Did you bring me anything to eat?" he asked.

"Of course, Master," hissed the Witchking pleasantly. "We killed a squirrel specially for you."

"Just one, scrawny squirrel?" Sauron was horrified.

"It's rather a large squirrel, Master," hissed the Witchking, trying to be apologetic. "We picked some berries for you, knowing that you would be hungry, and the squirrel ate all of them. Four kicked it across the room."

Four shuffled guiltily.

"Nearly all the berries in Mirkwood are poisonous," said Sauron. Stupid squirrel. Stupid Ringwraiths.

"Oh. Maybe that's why it died. Maybe it wasn't Four's fault."

Four looked as relieved as big, black cloak can look.

"Are you trying to _kill _me?" yelled Sauron. "Are you trying to _starve _me? Fetch me another squirrel, and this time, don't poison it first!"

The Ringwraiths bowed and fled from the scene.

Sauron scrambled up onto the window ledge, and then sat there and twiddled his thumbs. He was enjoying himself. There was nothing quite so much fun as yelling at terrified minions.

Being a Dark Lord, Sauron realized, was practically no work and all play. The minions did the work. The Dark Lord did the yelling. And the plotting, which was fun. And he got to supervise things, like the torturing of prisoners and the executions of enemies, which was also fun. Dark Lords had time free to invent new weapons, to create horrifying new monsters, to organize special events. They crushed all those who dared oppose them. They had many exotic and dangerous pets. They feasted in times of famine. They even _caused _the times of famine.

Thinking of famine, Sauron became annoyed. He was hungry. Dark Lords weren't meant to be hungry.

Of course, they were also not supposed to be much less than two meters tall.

Sauron stared out the window. He could see his Ringwraiths bumbling around, trying to catch squirrels. He sighed. Clever humans were the easiest to corrupt, but once they turned into wraiths, they stopped being so clever. It was a lamentable setback. They weren't stupid, but... well, catching squirrels was a bit beyond them. Clearly it was not something they had attempted in their past lives.

He twiddled his thumbs some more, a scowl on his face.

Eventually Three and Eight hurried up into the tower room, bowing excitedly. Eight was waving a dead squirrel by its tail. "Look! We caught one, Master!"

"And do you know how to skin squirrels?"

Three and Eight nodded vigorously.

"Well, hurry up, then," said Sauron, and he glided down the winding stairway to explore Dol Guldur.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Sauron was sitting by a small fire, carefully toasting minuscule pieces of squirrel-remains over the blaze. Sauron had discovered that Three and Eight were really, really bad at skinning squirrels. Maybe next time they would remember not to use their swords. (Sauron hoped he had driven home that particular lesson.)

The Ringwraiths were watching Sauron devour his dinner. They were also sitting as far away from the fire as possible.

"So," said Sauron, once he was done eating the pathetic little squirrel. "You have reclaimed Mordor, haven't you?"

The Witchking hissed, "Yes, Master" and the rest of the Ringwraiths nodded helpfully.

"How is Shelob?" asked Sauron. "She's doing well, I trust?"

"Yes, Master. We fed her a few of Eärnur's men," hissed the Witchking.

Sauron smiled wistfully. He wished he had been there to watch the fun. He loved spiders. Morgoth had hated them, but Sauron thought they were adorable. Especially the really big, hairy ones.

"The Ring," said Sauron slowly, directing the conversation to less pleasant matters. "Do you have any... information... regarding it?"

"No, Master. I'm very sorry," hissed the Witchking sadly.

Sauron was upset by the news, or the lack of it, but he channeled his unhappiness constructively and took it out on the Witchking. "Won't you talk normally?" he demanded.

"Thank you, Master," said the Witchking. He did not enjoy hissing. It got annoying after a while, and was hard to keep up for long amounts of time.

"I'm still hungry," said Sauron thoughtfully. He had never enjoyed having Morgoth in his mind, but he hated this empty feeling even more.

"We'll fetch you something, Master," said the Witchking. "What do you want?"

"I presume you have collected some mortals to serve me," said Sauron.

"Of course, Master."

"Bring me one," Sauron said, changing into a vampire.

The Ringwraiths were undead to serve, so they hurried off to find their master a mortal.

Sauron did not enjoy being a vampire, though sometimes it was necessary to become one when other food sources were not available. It brought back unpleasant memories of being defeated by Huan. Not to mention the fact that vampires are ridiculously easy to kill, since nearly anyone with a stake and some garlic can do it. (Though, happily for the vampires, not many people carry about stakes and garlic.)

"Liquid diets are so boring," muttered Sauron gloomily. He looked up as the Ringwraiths returned very rapidly, without any mortals.

"There's someone sneaking into Dol Guldur!" yelled Five. "Master," he added, with half a bow.

Sauron leapt to his feet. "Jarr Ilúvatar," he swore. "What sort of someone?"

"A Maia," said Two, writhing in agitation.

Sauron did not bother to swear again. There was no time. To swear, at least. There was time to panic.

Not that this was in any way remarkable. There is always time to panic.

"Quick!" he cried. "Six, run upstairs and fetch the books and things from the tower room!"

Six jogged off, managing not to get tangled in his long black robes. There is an art to this, which the Ringwraiths had mastered long ago.

Sauron ran to the window, and stared out into the darkness. He saw an old man in grey robes striding briskly up the path to the dark tower. "Curses," he said. "It's Olórin. Horrid little prig. Never could stand him."

"Will you strike him down, Master?" asked the Witchking eagerly.

"No. I don't have the strength to fight Olórin at the moment," said Sauron. "I am going to head East. I'll go to Mordor."

"Very good idea, Master," said the Witchking.

"One, Two and Three, cover my tracks," commanded Sauron. " We can't let Olórin know that I was here. The rest of you, come with me."

Sauron was not a happy Dark Lord. His career was practically in shambles already. There didn't seem to be any way to flee with dignity, so he simply dashed after his Ringwraiths, trying to keep up, but not doing a great job of it.

He hoped that this bad beginning was not an indication of greater difficulties to come.

But it was, of course.

**TBC...**


	22. Varda's Salmon Surprise

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

'_Manwë and Melkor were brethren in the thought of Ilúvatar.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

Manwë was not certain who had established the Rule. Who had decided that super-nice, slightly naïve, friendly Valar should have blond hair? What was the reasoning behind it? Did blond hair wordlessly announce, "Hey! Look at me! I'm completely clueless! But I'm also a nice person!"

It was either that or "Hey! Look at me! I'm a cheerleader! I'm mean and stupid!"

This unwritten Rule caused Manwë a lot of bother. Manwë was not a natural blond. He ended up spending far too much time dyeing his hair the appropriate color, while horrible things happened to good people elsewhere.

When these good people asked questions like, "Why did you let this happen to me, Manwë? Why? Why?" Manwë felt that his excuse ("Sorry, I wasn't watching, I was dyeing my hair at the time") was not satisfactory and would probably upset the sufferers even more. So he stayed silent, wracked with guilt, and occasionally went to Mandos to confess these sins.

Mandos always listened quietly, thinking thankful thoughts about his naturally black hair, which was perfect for his job. A blond Doomsman of the Valar would be completely incongruous, and then Mandos would have been forced to dyehishair too, in keeping with his image.

Manwë and Melkor were brothers in the thought of Ilúvatar, and in the eyes of everyone else they looked disturbingly similar. Both had raven-black hair (until Manwë dyed his), both had had bright blue eyes (until Melkor had made his all red and glow-in-the-dark), and both could engage in convincing maniacal laughter (though Manwë never did, because that would bother some people). Manwë had to keep his hair fairly long, because when it was even moderately short, it stood up on his head in spikes, which made the Elves of Valinor nervous.

Manwë finished dealing with his sinister hair and walked into the kitchen. He looked charming and presentable, practically angelic. Varda, standing over the stove, did not look angelic. She looked frazzled, and also oddly triumphant.

"I am a genius," she announced, plonking a plate of smoldering food (or _was _it food?) in front of Manwë and beaming at him. "Eat up, my darling."

Manwë prodded the food with his fork. "May I ask what this is?"

Varda's triumphant look slipped from her face momentarily, and her expression became alarmingly homicidal. "It's salmon," she said.

"Salmon?" echoed Manwë.

"Yes, salmon!" yelled Varda. "What other thing have we been eating these past few hundred years?"

"What did you do to it?" asked Manwë humbly, feeling guilty about the salmon, because the eagles hadn't listened to him and he would have to talk to them again. He hated criticizing the poor things.

"I deep fat fried it," said Varda, "and then I covered it in chocolate and topped it off with cherry sauce, olives, and whipped cream."

Manwë felt his jaw drop. He poked the salmon again, wincing as the tines of his fork assumed bent positions. "It looks delicious, my dear," he lied. It was his first lie in... ever.

Varda sat down with her own plate, and started sawing the salmon into bite-sized portions. "Don't worry," she said. "We can't break our teeth on this. We are Valar, after all."

"Well, that's a relief," said Manwë in a desperate attempt at jocularity.

At that moment, Aulë knocked on the door. Manwë bounced to his feet, crying, "I'll get it!" and dashed out of the room.

Varda smiled fondly after her husband, and munched on her dinner. She had decided to call the new recipe 'Varda's Salmon Chocolate Surprise'. Since no one else was going to the write the book _10,000 Unique and Interesting Ways to Cook Salmon, _she would.

"Hello, Manwë!" said Aulë.

"Hello, Aulë!" said Manwë.

They beamed at each other.

"Would you like to come in?" asked Manwë. "Would you like to have dinner with us?"

Aulë nodded eagerly. "Yes, please," he said.

Manwë ushered the smith inside, leading him to the dining room. "Aulë has come to join us for dinner, Varda," he said.

"It's a pleasure," said Varda politely. "There is plenty of Salmon Surprise for everyone."

"Oh, good. How delicious," said Aulë, licking his lips.

Manwë provided Aulë with a chair, and Varda served him a plate of her Salmon Chocolate Surprise. Aulë did not look at it, because he was staring at the salad.

"Oh! You have salad!" he exclaimed.

"Yes. Would you like some?" asked Manwë, heaping some salad on Aulë's plate.

"We only eat meat at my house," said Aulë, skewering a slice of cucumber with his fork, " because darling Yavanna says it's cruel to kill plants for food."

Varda nodded. "I agree," she said philosophically. "I think we would all be better off if we ate rocks, instead of depriving innocent plants and animals of their lives."

Manwë was greatly worried. He did not want to be eating rocks any time in the future.

Aulë was greatly dismayed. "Eat rocks?" he demanded. "Rocks have feelings too!"

"Oh, yes. Sorry. I'd forgotten," said Varda. Living in harmony with nature, she concluded, was really just a good way of starving to death.

Aulë popped a piece of salmon into his mouth. Manwë held his breath and prayed, trying to surreptitiously tip his portion out the window. Aulë chewed thoughtfully.

Eating rocks could not have been a noisier process.

At last Aulë said, still thoughtfully, "Mm. This is very good, Varda."

Varda smiled.

"Are these... olives?" asked Aulë.

Varda nodded.

"Is this... cherry sauce?" asked Aulë, gesturing with his ruined fork.

Varda nodded again. "I'm _so_ glad you like it," she said mellifluously.

"I love it," said Aulë.

Manwë asked, "Did you come over for any particular reason, Aulë?"

Aulë glanced at the salad bowl, then smiled brightly, and said, "No." He nibbled crunchily on the Salmon Surprise. Eventually he asked, "How is the history of Middle-earth?"

"It seems to be a bit more stable," said Manwë, "so we can hope that Nienna and the Fëanturi are fixing the problem."

Aulë munched his salad reflectively. "Do you have any news regarding... my delinquent Maia?"

Varda choked demurely, and Manwë had to pound her on the back before she could breathe again.

"Your delinquent Maia?" asked Manwë. "Sauron, you mean?"

Aulë nodded.

"He's doing what he does best," said Manwë. "Furthering the evil cause, and all that."

"Should we be doing something about him?" asked Aulë.

The three Valar looked at each other.

"What do you mean?" asked Varda.

"Like maybe we should stop him?" asked Aulë.

"Oh, I'm sure someone from Middle-earth will defeat him eventually," said Manwë. "And it gives them such a thrill, you know, when they manage to win all by themselves."

Varda nodded her agreement. "If we kept on interfering with their lives, that would cultivate defeatist attitudes."

Aulë poked his salad about his plate. "He's dangerous..." he said.

"He's a Maia," said Manwë. "And anyway, he is only about this tall," he finished, illustrating Sauron's height with two parted fingers.

"Really?" Aulë was amused despite himself.

"We can leave him to his own devices without fear," said Manwë.

"That's good," said Aulë. "Pass the salad, please."

* * *

After lunch, Manwë proceeded to the Halls of Tulkas and Nessa to fulfill his yearly duty. A fëa had to be specifically approved by Manwë before it could leave the Halls with a new body. Mandos had let very few fëar leave his Halls, so Manwë had hardly ever had to sign certificates.

This time, however, Nessa had promised Manwë that there would be lots of work waiting for him. She had not lied.

Manwë stepped into the Halls, a premature wince on his face. He hated the pink and orange wallpaper. He hated the new stainless steel furniture. Minimalist decor had never before been so enthusiastically crammed into so small a space.

The room was filled with shouting fëar, all waving pieces of paper and looking desperate. Manwë winced again. He knew that he was on the verge of having a very bad headache, and also on the verge of being very bad-tempered and unValarly. In such a situation as this, he might even be forced to raise his voice.

Manwë took a deep breath, and waded through the throng to his desk. He collapsed into a flimsy, art nouveau chair, distinguished in its ability to clash with every other thing in the room. He took another deep breath.

"Women and children first," said Manwë, with the vague hope that women and children would be less violent and more quiet than men.

This vague hope died a dismal death the moment the women started pushing and shoving their way through the crowd, the few children diving out of their way. There was a brief scuffle in front of Manwë's desk. The victor emerged with a triumphant smirk on her fair face, and handed her certificate to the Vala.

"Aredhel?" asked Manwë, after squinting at Nessa's tangled handwriting for a few moments.

"Yes," said Aredhel. She tried to smile sweetly, but Manwë was not fooled, since he had just seen her decimating all the unlucky women who had gotten in her way.

Manwë decided that he wasn't going to ask questions. He was going to make this job as painless for himself as possible by signing every certificate that he set his eyes on. He was about to sign Aredhel's when another Elf came forward.

"If you're going to let my wife go, then I have to go too," the fëa said, slamming his piece of paper down on the desk.

Aredhel glowered at him, and attempted another sweet smile in Manwë's direction. "Please, Lord Manwë," she said, "you cannot let him go. He's creepy, and he follows me everywhere!"

Eöl turned to Manwë as well. Unlike his wife, he was not trying to look sweet. He was trying to look piteous. Manwë couldn't decide which of them was failing more.

"Please let me leave this place, Lord Manwë," Eöl said. "I have been treated most cruelly here. They all hate me because I am of the Avari!"

"Don't listen to him! He killed me!" cried Aredhel hysterically.

Manwë looked from one to the other. His head felt as though Aulë had mistaken it for something that needed to be bashed repeatedly with a big hammer.

Another Elf came forward. Manwë knew who he was before he even opened his mouth.

"If you're going to let my mother and father go loose," said Maeglin, "you should let me go as well. Then we can be a happy family again."

Aredhel and Eöl both saw that their son's argument had the best chance of being convincing and hastily amended their tactics to match his. Eöl flung one arm around Maeglin's shoulder in what he must have imagined was a fatherly gesture. Unfortunately, he looked as though he were preparing to choke his son to death.

"Oh, yes!" cooed Aredhel. "We have had a few... misunderstandings in the past, but with counseling, I'm sure we'll all be fine."

"It was so hard for me," said Maeglin, "to grow up in Gondolin as an orphan. I was disadvantaged right from the start. Please, Lord Manwë, allow me this second chance at life."

There was nothing Manwë hated more than people trying to manipulate his kind nature for their own ends. He hated it because he always knew what was happening, and it always worked anyway.

He signed the three certificates. The three fëar beamed at him happily. Then Manwë found some more pieces of paper in a desk drawer, and started writing out restraining orders.

Finally, Manwë gave Eöl, Aredhel, and Maeglin their papers and sent them away. He pinched the bridge of his nose wearily.

"Next," he said.

* * *

By the time the sons of Fëanor proceeded to the front desk, Manwë had stopped trying to decipher Nessa's handwriting, and did not even ask for names.

As had been arranged, Celegorm and Curufin went up to the desk together, and Manwë signed their certificates and waved them out the door.

Maedhros, watching from the sidelines, was surprised and delighted. He was not an optimistic Elf, and he had not imagined that getting out of Mandos would be this easy.

Caranthir had refused to go with Maglor, so the two Elves went to Manwë separately. They too were soon free to go. Poor Manwë looked half-asleep, and he set down his pen periodically, to do finger exercises. This gave Maedhros time to start worrying again.

"Maybe the three of us shouldn't go up together," he said quietly to Amrod and Amras.

"Why?"

"Because he'll see three fëar with pink hair, and it will make him suspicious."

"It's not _really _pink."

"More like a sort of translucent reddish color."

"It's still enough to make a Vala suspicious," said Maedhros.

"All right," said Amrod, "we can go singly."

Amrod went first, and nothing bad happened.

In his corner, Maedhros gave a soft, breathless sigh of relief.

Amras went after a few more fëar, and that was when the problems began.

"I've done you already," said Manwë, who was not unobservant, just sick of signing certificates for clamoring, ungrateful fëar.

"You have not, Lord Manwë," said Amras.

Manwë noticed the pink hair for the first time, and became suspicious. He examined the writing on the certificate. Then he jumped to his feet, knocking over the art nouveau chair. It fell apart. Manwë did not fall apart, but only with a great effort.

"Nessa! Tulkas!" he cried.

Nessa and Tulkas were both very fast, and they flung themselves into the room within seconds of being called. Fëar scattered like tenpins.

"What?" the Valar exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"The sons of Fëanor are escaping!" said Manwë. "Eru knows how many I've let waltz out of here." He was clearly resisting the impulse to rip out handfuls of his beautifully dyed hair. " We have to stop them before they get their bodies returned to them!" he finished.

Maedhros tried to melt very quietly into the crowd, but the crowd had dwindled over the past few hours, and now consisted of only a few fëar, who had the sense to keep away from the one with the pink hair. As a result, Maedhros was impossible to overlook.

"There's one!" said Nessa, looking at Maedhros, whose face was slowly becoming the same shade as his hair. "And there's another one," she added, pointing at Amras.

Maedhros and Amras glanced at each other.

"When the others get dragged back," said Amras, "they are not going to be very happy with us."

"With _you_," snapped Maedhros. Then he said, more calmly, "That was only my first escape plan."

Amras sighed, and sat down on Manwë's desk, resigned to the inevitable. "I hope your next escape plan works better than this one," he said.

**TBC...**


	23. A Really Bad Day

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

"'_Those who pass the gates of Barad-dûr do not return.'"_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Fellowship of the Ring' _

The years passed.

Rivendell was a nice place, but it got boring.

Glorfindel and Nienna flirted now and then, but only when Mandos and Lórien were watching.

Fëanor found new creative ways to scare Elrond.

Mandos read all the books in Elrond's library.

Lórien slept most of the time.

Every time things got _really _boring, a girl would show up and try to take control of the Elven realm.

Fëanor and the Valar found new creative ways of killing such girls.

One morning, Mandos trudged into the library to shelve books.

The window was open. Papers were spilled all over the floor, splattered with ink. Erestor was nowhere to be found.

Mandos took a deep breath, trying not to smile. This was a serious matter, after all.

He hurried away to find Fëanor, Lórien and Nienna.

* * *

Bad days are when a squirrel gets loose in your bedroom and jumps all over your face, thus rapidly waking you up, and then you find out that Glorfindel didn't write the extremely lengthy report you asked him to write, and it's due in half an hour, and a lot of books are dropped on your foot by the clumsy idiot who was returning them. 

Really bad days are when a panicked squirrel jumps all over your face in an attempt to get out of your room, you find out that Glorfindel didn't write the extremely lengthy report, (and it's due in five minutes), the clumsy idiot tries to cripple you (and nearly succeeds), and then a bunch of Sauron's evil minions hop through the library window as you're trying to write the extremely lengthy report in your remaining two minutes, and they clap a sack over your head and haul you off to Mordor.

Erestor was having a really bad day.

It did, however, make him viciously glad to know that Sauron's evil minions were having a really bad day too. For Sauron's minions, a really bad day can be defined as the day in which you try to haul Erestor to Mordor.

Erestor wasn't cooperating. Not that he was kicking or screaming. That would have been undignified. Instead, he was being very calm. He was calmly telling the evil minions about the myriad of things that could (and probably would) go wrong with their evil plot. Erestor had spent his whole life thinking of what could go wrong with the best laid plans. He had quite a list.

This was the equivalent of anyone else prattling happily, only it was more annoying.

Erestor had not yet mentioned 'divine intervention', but in the end, divine intervention was what saved him. The three Valar had quickly worked out what had happened to the Elf, once he had disappeared with an extremely lengthy report left undone. They had made Glorfindel draw his festivities to a close, announcing that they would rescue Erestor before Sauron got him. Glorfindel was most unkindly disappointed by this.

Mandos, Nienna, and Lórien, who had been walking briskly all morning, caught up with his kidnappers at last. Fëanor trailed behind them, utterly bored.

Tragically for the evil minions, they never stood a chance. Catching sight of the Valar bearing down on them, they dropped Erestor and tried to run for their lives, but too late. Mandos waved his hand vaguely and performed his own little trick. The evil minions died quickly and quietly, their spirits moving directly to the Halls of Mandos without passing 'go'.

"I did not know that you could do that, Mandos," said Fëanor, wide-eyed.

Mandos shrugged. "It's not that hard," he said.

"Could _I _learn how to do it?" asked Fëanor.

"No."

Meanwhile, Lórien and Nienna tipped Erestor out of the sack. He sat up and glared at them, not exactly the picture of a grateful-to-be-rescued Elf. "Thanks," he said irritably.

"You are welcome," said Mandos. "Now hurry home before it gets dark."

"You have a very important report to finish, after all," said Lórien.

"Yes," said Erestor. Then he asked, "Are you not going back to Imladris with me?"

The Valar glanced at each other briefly, and Nienna said, "We are not."

"There is someone we need to visit," said Mandos.

Erestor nodded. "All right," he said. "I'll tell them you died in an avalanche." He hurried away through the woods, back in the direction of Imladris.

The Valar watched him go. Then they set out for Mordor, having decided that it was time to see what exactly Sauron was trying to do.

* * *

Sauron was trying to catch an Elf that would read the mysterious Inglish book to him. He had sent out his evil minions a few months ago, and was hoping that they would return soon. While he did not have the military strength to attack and destroy Imladris, such a covert mission would not jeopardize his other plans. 

Sauron was also trying to build a machine, according to the guidelines pictured in the other book. As of yet, the machine did not work. He had built several beautiful engines for it, but they had all exploded. The metals he had used to make the machine were too heavy, and Sauron did not know what material had been used to encompass the wheels. It was very frustrating.

Everything else was going swimmingly.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before something unpleasant happened. Sauron was an optimist, but even he knew that things could not go swimmingly forever.

The Dark Lord had just finished questioning one of his prisoners himself for a change, and was in a good mood. He hummed ominous tunes to himself as he listened to the scouts' reports.

"Master," said Five, "there are some... people approaching Barad-dûr."

The Ringwraiths had decided that the best time to tell Sauron bad news was when he was in a good mood. Sauron knew that they had decided this, but he did not know why.

Sauron stopped humming as his good mood died an untimely death. "How did they get past the Black Gates?" he asked, surprised and annoyed.

"Er, well, we aren't quite sure," said Five.

"What do these people look like?" the Maia demanded. "How many are there?"

"Four," said Five. "And, well, er, we think that three of them are, er, Valar."

Sauron might have been very short, but when he lost his temper, he was still a scary sight. He stormed out of his hall to investigate the new problem, ranting about the Ringwraiths' incompetence and threatening retribution in all its painful forms.

* * *

One look at the three Valar and Fëanor standing outside his gates, and Sauron's missing memories came back to him in a sickening rush. He whimpered and collapsed against a nearby wall, remembering everything. Amanda-Lynn. Harry Potter. Computers. Pizza. Benny and Sammy. The _tea-cozy_. 

Oh, the horror and humiliation of it all!

"Are you all right?" asked Five.

"Never better," said Sauron through gritted teeth.

"That's good!" said Five, oblivious to the suffering of his lord.

"Open the gate!" yelled Sauron.

The gate was opened.

Sauron stomped out to confront the Valar.

"Hello, Sauron," said Mandos.

"What are you doing here?" snarled Sauron in a less than friendly fashion.

"We thought we should pay you a little visit," said Nienna.

"Maybe stay in Barad-dûr for a few thousand years, to keep an eye on you," said Fëanor.

"Don't worry," added Lórien, seeing Sauron's expression. "We won't interfere with your preferred form of administration."

"You most certainly will not!" said Sauron, agreeing. "In fact, you will leave right now, before I get angry and unleash my Ringwraiths on you."

Mandos snorted. "The wraiths of men are hardly a threat to us, Sauron," he said.

Sauron gaped for a moment as this information sunk in, and then he shut his mouth firmly and stalked off, muttering under his breath.

"I've only just realized how much I missed the poor little dear," said Nienna. "He needs someone to get his life back on track."

Mandos and Lórien gave their sister dubious glances, Fëanor gave her a scornful one, and then the four of them strolled over to the Dark Lord of Middle-earth, who was kicking a wall in frustration.

"Calm down," said Nienna. "We aren't going to ruin your life. We just need somewhere to stay."

"There are all sorts of happy, friendly little Elvish realms all over the place," said Sauron, "despite my best efforts to stamp them out. Why can't you stay in one of them?"

"We like your company," said Lórien.

Sauron glared up at them. "Please don't insult my intelligence," he said. "I may be half your size, and look half your age, but I am conquering the world and I am not stupid."

"We want to make sure you don't do anything too evil," said Mandos.

"Oh? And what would be classified as being 'too evil'?" asked Sauron.

"I am not telling you, because I do not want to give you ideas."

Sauron sighed in disappointment.

"I thought you were supposed to be ugly," said Nienna randomly.

Sauron looked startled, but he said, "It's a myth I prefer to perpetuate."

"Along with the myth that you are three meters tall?" sniggered Lórien.

Sauron gave him an icy look.

"Well? Are you going to invite us inside?" asked Lórien, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"No. I'm going to leave you out here to rot."

"No, you are not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you are not."

"Yes, I am."

"That's what _you _think."

"It is indeed."

"Sauron, you do not have to invite us in," said Mandos. "But perhaps you would like to keep an eye on _us._"

Sauron began to look thoughtful.

"Because there are all sorts of unpleasant things we can do if we put our minds to it."

"All right, all right," snapped Sauron at last. "You can stay in Barad-dûr. But you can't interfere with my work, and you can't give me lectures on converting to the good side, and you can't turn up your noses at whatever food you're served for dinner. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said the Valar in unison.

"Agreed," said Fëanor, after a moment's thought.

Sauron gifted them with a bright, endearing, positively wicked smile. "Well then, _do _come in," he said, sweeping a low bow.

**TBC...**


	24. In Which Dinner is Almost Served

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

"'_Don't orcs eat, and don't they drink? Or do they just live on foul air and poison?'"_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Return of the King' _

Barad-dûr was exactly what they had expected. It was dark, dirty, foul-smelling, and altogether unpleasant. There were Orcs and other nasty (but fortunately unidentifiable) creatures about. Something somewhere dripped persistently. Fëanor and the Valar were very careful about where they put their feet.

"You are in time for dinner," said Sauron mildly. "Follow me, please."

They followed him.

("I don't know if this was a good idea," whispered Nienna.)

("It probably wasn't," replied Lórien.)

It was not long before they heard the unmistakable sounds of rioting and warfare. The Valar winced. Fëanor began to look interested. Sauron's face was devoid of expression, a fact that was worrisome in the extreme. By the way his mouth was twitching, he was probably trying not to laugh. That was even more worrisome.

They reached a large oaken door, and somehow Sauron flung it open without actually touching it.

The sight of Orcs met their eyes. Orcs. Orcs, Orcs, and _more _Orcs. Orcs fighting and brawling and killing and, in some rare cases, actually eating. Or, more frequently, being eaten.

Belatedly, Fëanor began to wonder if he would be the main course of this dinner.

The Orcs rapidly noticed that their lord and master was standing in the doorway, staring at them and tapping one foot impatiently. They went silent at once, dropping whatever grisly objects they had been holding and having the decency to look slightly ashamed of themselves.

Sauron did not bother to say anything. He strode through the crowd, with the Orcs scuttling to get out of his way, and his guests hurrying after him. He reached a large stone table, set high on a platform; climbed up the steps to it; and scrambled onto a huge iron throne, which was incongruously padded with a large red pillow. Even with the pillow, he looked very small, albeit dangerous, as he sat there.

Sauron waved his hand graciously, and the Orcs started fighting again.

"So, what do you think of the dining hall?" asked Sauron. "Does it suit your tastes?"

"Not really," said Lórien. Lórien liked fountains and flowers and beautiful maidens drifting around singing soothing lullabies. This was basically the opposite of that.

Fëanor saw several Orcs gazing up at him and looking hungry. He slouched down in his chair.

The Valar attempted have a conversation with Sauron. It was very awkward. Sauron changed the subject so often that Mandos began to suspect he was either trying to beat some previous record, or playing a game to see how much he could confuse his guests.

Eventually a man wandered through the mob, holding a large platter above his head.

"That," said Sauron, in a tone that was almost proud, "is my chef."

The man was clearly having some difficulties navigating his way amongst the Orcs.

"He is very talented," said Sauron.

Mandos could not help but notice that Sauron suddenly looked slightly anxious.

The man realized that he was heading in the wrong direction, and started wandering towards the high table. He wobbled under the burden of the heavy platter.

"He makes chopped Orc intestines taste like ambrosia," said Sauron. "Which I suppose it is, if _I _am eating it."

Mandos rolled his eyes. Nienna was gagging quietly in her corner, hoping that Orc intestines would not be the main dish served that evening.

The man wobbled into several Orcs who were locked in mortal combat. He nearly tipped over.

"He won the Mordor Culinary Competition last year," said Sauron.

Three Orcs tackled the man and he went down like a felled tree.

"And now he's dead," said Sauron. He sighed. "He lasted longer than the other fifteen, at least," he murmured.

Once the Orcs realized that there was something new to eat, they all flung themselves in the direction of the downed chef with joyful shouts of "Manflesh! Manflesh!". The room became even noisier. The scene became even more violent.

"Someone will probably think to bring us something eventually," said Sauron, "or else someone will die horribly."

"I do not feel very hungry, actually," said Nienna.

Mandos, Lórien and Fëanor hastily, and desperately, voiced their agreement.

"Nonsense," said Sauron. "You must be _very _hungry. After all, you have been traveling for a long time."

They assured him that they were not hungry.

"You wound me," said Sauron dramatically. "You greatly wound me."

"I'm very sorry," said Nienna.

"You should be," said Sauron. "By the way, can you cook?"

"Not really," said Nienna. "I didn't eat much in Valinor."

"Can _any _of you cook?" asked Sauron.

There was a lengthy silence, during which Fëanor and the Valar all stared sheepishly at the table.

"I can," said Fëanor at last, still staring at the table, and looking more sheepish than the three Valar combined. "I'm good at cooking."

"Thank Melkor!" cried Sauron in delight, ignoring the way they all stiffened at the exclamation. "You are most welcome, Fëanor, if you can cook. I shall be forever in your debt. Now, are you sure you aren't hungry?"

They nodded.

"Well, I'm hungry," said Sauron. "You will be glad to know it doesn't take me long to eat."

A moment later, a large wolf was devouring two or three unlucky Orcs. Mandos, Lórien, Nienna and Fëanor were alternately averting their eyes or staring in fixated disgust.

Eventually Nienna said, "You know, when we were on Earth, he could only turn into a _small _werewolf."

"He still not as big as he could be if he had the Ring of Power," said Mandos. "But he is more powerful than he was on Earth."

Sauron returned to them, having reverted back to his normal form. "I suppose you are tired?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yes," replied Lórien.

"Do you have a guestroom where we could stay?" asked Nienna.

Sauron thought for a moment. "I do have a guestroom," he said, "though usually I call it my Main Torture Chamber. I could move the various prisoners out of it, though, and have some bedding brought in, and you would probably be comfortable. Does that sound good?"

"It sounds... great," said Nienna weakly.

"Good," said Sauron. He went to smaller door at the back of the room, and stepped through it, his guests behind him. He turned around and looked up at them. "Are you _sure _you want to stay with me?" he asked. "The Orcs are usually even worse at breakfast."

They did not want to stay. They wanted to be far, far away. But they had a feeling that they couldn't back out of the agreement now. They had to watch Sauron and make sure he didn't get up to mischief.

"Oh, we don't mind," said Mandos. "I'm sure Fëanor will make a delicious breakfast."

"What?" demanded Fëanor.

"I think he meant that you would _cook_ a delicious breakfast," said Nienna.

"Oh," said Fëanor. "Oh, of course."

"Of course," said Mandos.

* * *

The sight of the Main Torture Chamber –the guestroom, that is– did nothing to soothe the nerves of our heroes. After the mayhem in the dining hall, they felt as though they were on the verge of hysteria. The guestroom was nearly enough to send them over the edge. 

The guestroom was dark and foreboding.

Sauron's expression was also dark and foreboding.

Lórien chose the lesser of two evils, and entered the guestroom with a big fake grin on his face.

"I get the rack!" he cried, bounding forward to claim it.

Mandos, Nienna, and Fëanor followed gingerly, setting down their packs and claiming spots as their own.

Sauron glowered at the four of them. "Sleep well," he said. He slammed the door shut.

He could not believe that the Valar had simply showed up on his doorstep. How smugly confident they were! How incredibly annoying!

Sauron would have loved to be rid of them, but there was little he could do. As long as they kept their noses out his business, they were not much of a threat. They would never take action against him unless he willfully provoked them.

Sauron could only hope that after their first breakfast in Barad-dûr, they would flee the place in disgust.

They could not avoid eating forever...

* * *

Maedhros turned around, and saw Tulkas staring at him with great concentration. 

Maedhros turned around in the other direction, doing so very slowly, and saw Nessa staring at him with narrowed eyes from where she sat at Mandos's redecorated desk. The desk had once been big and black, with hard, straight edges, but Nessa had repainted it. It was now plastered in a striking mishmash of green stripes and purple polka dots, the brightness of which threatened to do damage to the immaterial retinas of the poor fëar.

Maedhros peered covertly, and saw that the Maiar belonging to both Nessa and Tulkas were also staring at him, though they managed to do so with more tact than the Valar.

Maedhros was getting tired of being watched. It was making him jittery and paranoid, and such conditions were not conducive to thinking up clever escape plans. Probably this was the effect that Tulkas and Nessa intended.

Maedhros decided to continue to pretend that he did not notice that Valar's great interest in him. He whistled an obnoxious tune, and examined all ten of his fingernails, reflecting on how glad he was to have two hands again. All the jokes his insensitive brothers had thought up about how Maedhros was no longer able to count to ten had been very annoying.

While Maedhros whistled, he considered his situation. It had been bad enough when Mandos had ruled his Halls. It had become worse when Tulkas had taken charge. After Maedhros's first failed escape plan, it had grown still worse. After his eighth failed escape plan, it had become nearly unbearable. Tulkas and Nessa refused to let the fëa out of their sight for two seconds together. Maedhros's brothers were resentful that he hadn't saved them sooner than this. Being lazy little blighters, they weren't volunteering to help him think up ideas.

Maedhros was so engrossed in pretending to be interested in his fingernails that he did not notice the altercation until it was at its loudest.

One of Mandos's Maiar had finally snapped, and was in the process of confronting Tulkas. The Maiar that served Mandos had been suffering in silence for long enough, watching everything in the Halls of Mandos go to pieces. None of them, however, were fond of conflict. They were used to being quiet and drifting about busily. Therefore, it was a bit of a shock to Tulkas when one of them went berserk.

"–MAKING _PAPER CHAINS_!" yelled the Maia, brandishing a paper chain at Tulkas.

Maedhros started paying attention.

Tulkas tried to say something soothing while the disgruntled Maia flung the paper chain on the floor and jumped up and down on it. Maedhros watched, fascinated.

"You do not have to make paper chains," said Tulkas. "You could help us make origami cranes instead."

"Origami cranes?" yelled the Maia. "What do you think Mandos will do when he returns and finds us making _origami cranes_?"

"Calm down, calm down," said Tulkas.

The Maia looked anything but calm. "He trusted us to take care of his Halls, and you've destroyed them! He will be furious!"

"It's not the end of the world," said Tulkas reassuringly.

"It _will _be!" said the Maia, regaining enough of his sense of dignity to be able to make ominous prophecies. "It _will_ be! You just wait and see."

Maedhros smiled as he watched the Maia stomp off. He suddenly had a good idea for a ninth escape plan. It would take time and patience, but it would work.

He hoped.

**TBC...**


	25. Fun and Games for Fëanor

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

'_And immediately he took the form of a vampire, great as a dark cloud across the moon...'_

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Fëanor had only been in the kitchen of Barad-dûr for forty-six seconds, but already he was near his wit's end.

In those forty-six seconds he had:

-entered the kitchen,

-been attacked by five Orcs,

-fought off the Orcs with a ladle and a kitchen knife,

-killed the Orcs,

-and discovered that there was no food for him to cook for breakfast.

The kitchen was bare. The shelves were desolate. The cupboards were empty.

While there was no food to be found, the kitchen contained plenty of mice, rats, cockroaches, spiders, and other assorted evil insects and mysterious rodents. Perhaps they had eaten all the food. Or perhaps they were being bred so that they could be the food. Fëanor neither knew nor cared.

"This is so unhygienic," he muttered, understated as always.

Fëanor was an Elf of many accomplishments, but his inventions and ideas had been overshadowed by his creation of the silmarils, and the ensuing kinslayings. Nevertheless, he was renowned among chefs for designing the ingenious device known as the spatula. Spatulas are incredibly useful things, far more useful than silmarils. With a spatula, one can spread icing on cakes, scrape mixtures out of bowls, and perform the well-known 'Spectacular Spatula Trick'.

At that moment, Fëanor did not feel very inventive. He felt gloomy and despondent, and was annoyed at himself for getting into such a mess.

Fëanor saw a lone barrel oozing in its corner, and made his way towards it. The barrel was labeled **_Grewl_**. He pulled the lid off, and peered inside. Then he clapped the lid back on, sat down on a table and quietly battled despair.

"What a heartwarming sight," said Sauron from the doorway. "Did the five Orcs give you _much _trouble?"

Fëanor looked at the corpses on the kitchen floor. "No, not much," he said.

Sauron sighed. "See?" he asked. "When confronted by minor odds, they die like flies. Killing them may be all fun and games to you, but raising them to get slaughtered by overly-aggressive Elves isn't quite so delightful. Please bear that in mind."

"I," said Fëanor, "am not a minor odd."

"No, you are very odd," said Sauron, "but a most exceptional warrior nonetheless."

Fëanor narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"Only that I admire your skill," said Sauron rather blandly. "Killing five Orcs with a ladle and a kitchen knife is quite an impressive feat. Fingolfir could not have done the same."

"His name was Fingolfin," Fëanor said.

"All your ridiculous Elven names sound the same anyway,"replied Sauron.

"You are right, though," said Fëanor. "Fingolfin could not have fought five Orcs at one time with a ladle and a kitchen knife."

"Of course I am right," said Sauron. "I am an excellent judge of character and skill." He smiled modestly. "I personally am sorry that your career was cut short so quickly, because there was so much more you could have accomplished."

Fëanor thought that this was probably true as well.

"But," said Sauron cheerfully, "you have been given a second chance to do great deeds. You should seize this opportunity."

"What great deeds can I do?" asked Fëanor. "The Valar watch me constantly."

Sauron rolled his eyes. "Yes, they do have a strange fascination with watching us lesser creatures, don't they? The two of us may yet be given the chance to break free from their stifling presence. And then..." His voice trailed away.

"Then what?" asked Fëanor, after a few moments.

Sauron smiled. "I do not know exactly what will happen then, but I am certain that it will be a lot of fun. For me, at least. Now, how are the culinary arts progressing, my chef?"

Fëanor blinked at the subject change, but asked, "What is 'grewl'?"

"How should I know?" asked Sauron. "I am a Dark Lord, not a connoisseur of fine foods."

"'Grewl' is not a fine food, from what I have seen of it," said Fëanor. "Looks more like poison to me."

"Are you suggesting that there is nothing to eat?" asked Sauron. "Because I came down for a snack, and I hate being disappointed."

"You can have some grewl if you like," said Fëanor. "I don't care."

"I don't want any," said Sauron. "I want something _nice_ for a change."

Fëanor did not often feel nervous, but he still found the sight of Sauron licking his lips rather disturbing. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"I don't need too much," said Sauron, taking a step forward. His teeth were beginning to look sharper and sharper. "Just a little. Just a few small sips."

Fëanor wished that he had a spatula at hand, because he could have done some damage with it. "What are you talking about _now_?" he demanded.

"Blood," said Sauron, surprised that Fëanor had not realized. "Elven blood is so much better than mortal blood." He inched closer.

"You said you weren't a connoisseur," said Fëanor, looking for weapons.

"Not of fine foods," said Sauron.

* * *

Mandos and Lórien walked down to the kitchen to look for something to eat for breakfast. They did so with some trepidation, certain of what they would find and afraid to face it. 

When they reached the kitchen, they did not find breakfast. That did not surprise them. Instead of breakfast, they found chaos. That did not surprise them either.

Fëanor was perched on the top of a kitchen cabinet, and Sauron was standing on the kitchen table, trying to sink his fangs into the Elf's ankle. Lots of furniture had been upended, and culinary equipment lay scattered on the floor, among the corpses of Orcs.

"...What exactly is going on?" asked Mandos.

Fëanor heaved another heavy pot at the Maia, who ducked. "He is trying to drink my blood," said the kinslayer.

"Oh," said Lórien. "Did you manage to cook anything?"

"No," said Fëanor. "How can I? The moment I set foot on the floor, Sauron will go for my jugular."

"I won't," said Sauron sulkily. He got off the table. "I'd rather eat something else anyway."

"_Is_ there anything else to eat?" asked Mandos.

"All there is to eat is grewl, and it would be the death of us," said Fëanor, staying where he was.

Mandos and Lórien sat down at the table, as if hopeful that this action would make food magically appear upon it. Sauron sat down across from them, and slumped pathetically in his chair. "I'm so hungry," he whimpered.

"I don't see how you can be," said Mandos. "You ate three Orcs last night."

"Orcs are not very filling," said Sauron.

Mandos had no reply for him, so he said, "Come down from there, Fëanor. Your antics are hardly amusing."

"If you think I'm trying to be _amusing_–" began Fëanor ferociously.

"No need to rant," said Lórien. Like all the Valar, he had his moments of callousness. He felt cranky because he was hungry and had not slept well, since the rack had not been as comfortable as he had anticipated.

Fëanor stopped ranting and swore instead, before climbing down and glaring at them all. "You didn't have a hungry vampire coming after you," he said to Mandos. "Don't know what _you _would do in such a situation. Probably nothing as quick-witted as climb to safe ground."

Before Mandos could come up with a clever retort, the four of them heard Nienna shriek in terror somewhere in Barad-dûr. Lórien and Mandos leapt to their feet, ready to dash off to save their sister. Or to hide, thought Fëanor cynically.

"It sounds as though Nienna has met Elfdeath," Sauron remarked, sitting up and beginning to take notice.

"Elf_what_?"

"Elfdeath," said Sauron. "Don't worry. I do not think she eats Valar... though she has never actually met any before."

They heard the sound of someone running towards the kitchen, and then Nienna came dashing into the room, a large spider skittering after her. They were both making little squeaking noises under their breath.

"Get it away from me!" wailed Nienna, jumping onto the table in one graceful, terrified bound. "Get that nasty thing away from me!"

Sauron scooped Elfdeath up into his arms and cuddled his eight-legged pet affectionately. "There, there, my darling," he said. "Don't fret. The lady likes you."

The Valar all shuddered at the disturbing sight.

"Say hello to the nice Valar, Elfdeath," said Sauron.

"Hello!" squeaked Elfdeath, waving several black appendages at them.

The Valar looked faint.

"I think that perhaps we can have some fun together after all," said Sauron.

* * *

Nienna was in a state of shock. She stayed standing on the tabletop, while Fëanor and her brothers tried to coax her down. Sauron informed her that spiders can climb, so she wouldn't be safe up there anyway, and then he laughed and left the room, taking Elfdeath with him. 

Nienna sat cross-legged on the tabletop and burst into torrents of tumultuous tears.

Mandos, Lórien, and Fëanor shuffled around, feeling awkward, and pretending to look for something to eat.

"I want to go home!" Nienna said wetly after some time had passed. She dabbed at her eyes with a trailing sleeve. "I hate spiders! Especially... big... _hairy_ ones!"

"You did not mind them in Mirkwood," Fëanor pointed out.

"It jumped on my _head_," said Nienna with another strangled shriek. She had never been so traumatized in her life. "I was walking down the hall, and it _jumped _on my _head_."

"I suppose such an experience could change one's view on spiders," said Fëanor, trying to be nice. "I wonder," he added thoughtfully, "if we could catch it and eat it. It might taste good."

Nienna started crying again, even harder. Already little puddles were forming around her.

"Do you think," whispered Lórien, "that perhaps since she has not cried for many hundreds of years, she will do all her crying now?"

"I hope not," said Mandos. "We could drown."

Hearing this, Fëanor announced that he was going outside to see if there was a garden somewhere, where perhaps some sort of edible vegetation might be found. He hastily exited the room. Mandos and Lórien mournfully watched him go, but felt some mild brotherly inclination to stay with their sister and make sure she did not drown herself.

"We have been in Barad-dûr for not yet twenty-four hours," observed Mandos, "and already some of our number could be seriously emotionally damaged."

"Spiders, vampires, and food deprivation," Lórien murmured reflectively. "Whatever next?"

"Doom. It will all end in doom," said Mandos.

* * *

Fëanor searched for a garden for some time, before deciding that perhaps it would be better to first search for an exit. He had, as of that moment, been unable to find a way outside. He had encountered several groups of Orcs, and had been forced to dispatch several of them, using the kitchen knife and the spatula. 

Fëanor opened a large, black, ugly door that closely resembled every other door he had come across, and found himself in Sauron's private workroom. Sauron was sitting at a desk, writing busily, with his tongue peeking out of the side of his mouth. He looked up.

"You could at least have knocked," he said. "If you had surprised me, I might have killed you."

"Do you have a garden?" asked Fëanor.

"A what?" asked Sauron.

"A garden," said Fëanor. When the Dark Lord continued to look blank, Fëanor explained, "It's a place where you grow plants and flowers and suchlike."

"Oh," said Sauron. "Yes, I remember those things. Yavanna was inordinately fond of them. Aulë was always having to design newer and better irrigation pipes for her. Thank Eru I have a selective memory."

"I'm happy for you," said Fëanor impatiently. "It's nice to know you have a selective memory, but do you have a garden?"

"Of course not," said Sauron. "I strive my uttermost to be taken seriously. Do you think people would take me seriously if I grew flowers somewhere in Barad-dûr? Anyway, gardening was the most unpleasant thing I've done in my entire existence. I would never voluntarily inflict it upon myself."

"Maybe your minions have a garden somewhere?"

"I would never inflict gardening on any of them, either."

"Would you inflict it on your worst enemy?" Fëanor was curious.

"My worst enemies are very weird people who would probably enjoy it, so, no, I would not," said Sauron. He picked up his pen and resumed writing with an air of industry.

"Could you tell me how to get outside?" asked Fëanor.

Sauron looked up with a sigh. "You, Master Elf, are becoming irritating," he said, wagging the quill pen at Fëanor reprovingly. "I realize that you have been in the company of the Valar for some time, but you must still remember what _work_ is. Or perhaps your memory is even more selective than mine."

"The Valar work," said Fëanor without conviction.

Sauron snorted disbelievingly. "Don't be ridiculous. If the Valar worked, I would not be where I am today. I'd be sitting in the Void, wondering what hit me. And you are not allowed to tell them I said that," he added.

"Are you suggesting that you've only managed to stay ahead of the Valar thus far by working nonstop?" asked Fëanor, intrigued.

"I am suggesting that the Valar are lazy dossers," said Sauron, with a stern look. "Nothing more than that."

Fëanor tried not to grin, and nearly choked.

"While I applaud your valiant efforts," said Sauron, suppressing a smirk himself, "you are not much of a cook. Would you prefer to help me build a car?"

"A car? Like one of those very fast things we saw in Earth?" asked Fëanor.

Sauron nodded. " I've not been able to make it move at all so far, but I have hopes that eventually it will be very fast. I think that you would bring some fresh ideas to its construction."

Fëanor's eyes sparkled. "Lead me to it," he said.

**TBC...**


	26. If We Had a Mop

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

To the wonderful reviewers: thank you. I've had a pretty miserable week, and your feedback means a lot to me.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

'_She does not weep for herself...'_

_-J. R. R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

Nienna did not stop crying. She cried and cried and cried until the water on the kitchen floor rose up to Mandos and Lorien's ankles. Mandos and Lórien did not know how to stop her. They had asked politely, and then they had asked less politely, and Nienna had simply choked out the desperate chant, "I _can't_ stop, I _can't_ stop, I _hate_ crying."

There was clearly nothing that could be done, except to make the best of a bad business.

"If we had a mop," said Lórien, "we could wash this place very nicely."

Little dead cockroaches floated to the top of the pool. The Orc corpses were beginning to bob about. The rats had climbed to higher ground. Mandos had no idea how so much water had fitted in Nienna's body. He wondered if her eyeballs would eventually fall out.

Lórien, staring at the disgusting mess washing around his feet, suddenly realized that a mop would not be much help. Soon after this revelation, he realized that being stoic was giving him no pleasure, and burst into tears as well.

Mandos was startled. He stared at his two distraught siblings, mouth open in astonishment.

"I can't stop crying," wailed Nienna.

"I want to go back to Valinor," wailed Lórien.

"We hate Sauron. We hate spiders. We hate Middle-earth," they wailed.

"Get a grip!" yelled Mandos, who couldn't stand it anymore. "Pull yourselves together!"

"I'm so unhappy," sniveled Lórien.

"Watching the two of you cry hysterically is not giving me any kind of twisted pleasure," said Mandos, "so I suppose I'm not that happy either."

"This is just awful!" sobbed Nienna, wringing out her sleeves so that she could again attempt to dry her eyes.

"You'll make yourselves sick," said Mandos.

"I miss Estë!" wept Lórien. "I miss Lórien."

The water had nearly reached Mandos's knees. He was beginning to get worried. The wooden door to the kitchen had swollen, so there was no way for the water to trickle out of the room. He went over to the door and started yanking at it. It was stuck. Mandos yanked harder.

From their place on the kitchen counter, the rats squeaked encouragingly. Desperate cockroaches attempted to climb up Mandos's leg.

Mandos thought it would be very ironic if he died. It would be even worse if he were drowned by his own sister in a kitchen in Barad-dûr.

At that moment, someone pulled the door open, and Mandos found himself face to face with Fëanor. Water poured out of the room and down the hall. Fëanor looked startled, and then, as he realized what he had just done, he began to look unbearably smug.

Mandos decided that he hated irony. This was the second time that Fëanor had saved his life. He would have preferred to die.

"Having a family crisis?" asked Fëanor, trying to peer around the Vala's shoulder.

Mandos positioned himself so that the Elf could not see Nienna and Lórien having their emotional breakdowns. "Of course not," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"It is very wet," said Fëanor, "and I can hear your brother and sister sobbing hysterically."

The rats and cockroaches frolicked joyfully around Mandos's feet, under the misapprehension that Mandos was their savior.

"Would you like me to calm Lórien and Nienna down?" asked Fëanor.

Mandos realized that he had been gawking at the capering wildlife and not paying attention. "If you think you can calm them down, go ahead and try," he said, stepping out of the way.

Fëanor entered the kitchen, stood before the two Valar, and gave them his inimitable sneer. "How pathetic," he said. "Have you no pride? Are you going to just sit here and give up? If so, I will gladly watch."

Lórien and Nienna stared at him in surprise.

"Go on," said Fëanor. "Cry! Let the tears flow in gentle rivulets down your divine, alabaster cheeks, like rain leaking slowly from the celestial heavens, watering the earth and providing pleasant showers for the underwashed."

Bemused, Mandos realized the source of Maglor's talent.

Nienna and Lórien had nearly stopped crying. They had stunned expressions on their very damp faces.

Lórien snuffled pathetically, wiped his eyes, and glared at the kinslayer. "You are very unkind," he said. "Do you begrudge us a time of mourning?"

Fëanor sniffed. "Mourning? Don't be so self-piteous. You were scaring your brother." He turned to Mandos. "I'll be making a car in Sauron's special forge, so when you are ready to bestow upon me your grateful thanks, that's where you'll find me. Good day."

Fëanor walked out of the room, thinking that Nienna and Lórien were calm. They were not. They were very annoyed, as was Mandos, who did not even know the location of Sauron's special forge, but was not planning to go there anyway, because, being a Vala, he had _some _pride.

"How dare he come and sneer at us," said Lórien. He straightened his robe huffily, took a deep breath, and hurried out of the kitchen, sick of the very sight of it.

Nienna was still crying, but in a more normal way. As it had been in Valinor, tears trickled slowly down her face, instead of rushing down in torrents. "I suppose I mustn't have been able to put off crying forever," she said. "And the spider attack was a dreadful experience."

Mandos nodded his agreement.

"I think," said Nienna, "that I would be happier if I had a friend with me. A _female _friend," she added. "I'm sick of being with men all the time."

Mandos could not bring himself to be offended, so he merely nodded again.

Nienna gave him a pointed look. "Could you find me a friend?" she asked.

"Find you one?"

"Yes," said Nienna. "There are lots of wonderful women in your Halls. I'm sure you could find me someone."

* * *

"What is that?" asked Varda with frosty calm. 

It was a salmon. Manwë and Varda looked at it, Manwë hoping that Varda's question had been rhetorical. Varda watched him squirm.

"It's a salmon," said Manwë at last.

"What are you?" asked Varda, still calm.

"I'm the Lord of the Eagles?" asked Manwë.

"Are you sure?" asked Varda. "Are you quite, quite sure?"

Manwë looked pained. "Yes?"

Varda picked up the salmon and dangled it under her husband's nose. "I'm trying to be a good, patient, loving wife," she said, "but this overabundance of dead salmon is beginning to greatly irritate me. Do you realize that your eagles may be driving the salmon to extinction? The Elves are concerned."

Manwë bit his lip. "I could talk to them..." he said.

"The Elves?"

"No. The eagles."

"No," Varda snapped. "This time, I am talking to them."

"Oh," said Manwë. "Please don't."

"Why shouldn't I?" demanded Varda. "You keep on talking to them, and we have not been getting results. I want results!"

"The eagles have traditions," said Manwë pathetically. "They do not like trying something new. They have been catching salmon for years and years."

"_I know that_," snarled Varda.

Manwë blinked.

"I would love to try something new," said Varda. "Anything!"

"There's the salad..." said Manwë.

"Aulë has been eating all of it. He says the sight of meat makes him ill, and no wonder," replied Varda. "Yavanna won't even let him nibble on a lettuce leaf in her presence."

"The eagles don't much like strangers," said Manwë.

"The eagles are birdbrains!" yelled Varda. "I'm going to sort them out!"

She set off down the mountain, the salmon still in hand.

Manwë watched her go. Eventually he yelled after her, "Please be careful! Criticism hurts them! They don't like it!"

"I'm sure," muttered Varda fiercely, "that after my little chat with Morgoth, the eagles will be no trouble at all."

* * *

Vairë was eating lunch when she heard a familiar voice, speaking in her mind. 

_Vairë? Can you hear me?_

"Y-es," said Vairë, drawing out the word cautiously. "What are you doing in my mind, Mandos?"

_Praying, I suppose._

"What?" Now Vairë had no idea of what was going on.

_I am simply addressing my thoughts specifically to you. Apparently the people of Middle-earth occasionally communicate with the Valar in such a way_. Mandos sounded smug. _I wondered if it would actually work. _

"Well, it is working," snapped Vairë.

_This is very interesting. I have never had such an experience before. No one ever prayed to me._

"What were they supposed to ask of you?" demanded Vairë. "It's not like you were going to make their stay in your Halls any more fun if they asked nicely."

_I suppose_ continued Mandos, thoughtfully _that not many people have been able to hear the answer to their prayers in this fashion._

"I presume you had some specific request?" Vairë was sick of his musings. She wasn't used to him talking this much.

_Of course. If I didn't have a request, it wouldn't be a prayer, would it? _retorted Mandos.

"Sometimes people pray because they want to praise us," said Vairë, being thoughtful in turn. She wouldn't mind hearing Mandos praising her. Eru knew he didn't do that often.

Mandos didn't even bother to respond to her last statement. _I need you to withdraw someone from my Halls._

"You make it sound as though the Halls were a bank," said Vairë. "Are you even allowed to take people out of your Halls without permission?"

_No, but it is possible._ Mandos was growing hesitant.

Vairë smirked. "Your stay in Middle-earth has changed you, Mandos. Are you asking that I bend the rules for you?"

_If you fill out enough paperwork– _Mandos began.

"Doing paperwork doesn't make it any less wrong," said Vairë righteously. And then she remembered that she had been bending the rules herself, and felt terrible. "Who do you want me to 'withdraw'?" she asked.

_Lúthien Tinúviel. _

"What!"

_I know she is in the section of the Halls reserved for mortals, but that should not make the necessary paperwork more difficult. When it comes to Lúthien, rules rarely matter, you may have noticed._

"Is that supposed to be in any way consoling?" asked Vairë. She knew that the 'necessary paperwork' would take a while to fill out, even if it wasn't 'more difficult'. "Why do you need her?"

_Nienna wants some female companionship. She is not enjoying Barad-dûr. A large spider jumped on her head. She thinks that she would be happier if she had someone to share her sorrows. _

Vairë scowled. "Did she ask specifically for Lúthien?"

_No _replied Mandos, hesitant again.

"Couldn't I withdraw someone slightly less... dazzlingly beautiful?" asked Vairë.

_If you like _Mandos replied coolly, still contriving to sound slightly hurt by her suspicion.

"Very well," said Vairë with great reluctance. " I'll get her out."

_Thank you._

"Mandos?"

_Yes?_

"I miss you. A little." Vairë hated to admit it. She had been so used to seeing him all the time, and now he had been gone for years.

_I shall return soon. _

Mandos was gone. Vairë sat and glared at the kitchen table. He had not said he missed her too, of course. Maybe he did miss her. Or maybe not. _Why _did he want Lúthien?

Vairë glared harder, and then smiled to herself. Mandos would return soon. It would be a day of reckoning.

With Mandos, it always was.


	27. Good News, Bad News, Worse News

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing.

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

'_They were suddenly aware of great hunger, for they had not eaten anything since breakfast; but they dared not make more than a frugal supper.' _

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Fellowship of the Ring'_

Manwë played a few dozen games of solitaire while waiting for Varda to return. He had a vague feeling that she would not be happy when she arrived home. He decided that maybe a hot drink would soothe her.

He just hoped that she would come back to him in one piece.

Manwë was boiling the teakettle on the stove when Varda staggered into the kitchen and collapsed into a chair. Manwë was glad to see that she was missing no limbs.

"How were the eagles?" asked Manwë. A lesser Vala might have gloated, but Manwë only sounded sympathetic and concerned.

Varda chuckled raggedly, took the proffered cup of tea with a nod of thanks, and swigged down the scalding concoction in one gulp. "You were right," she said. "They don't like constructive criticism. They don't take it well."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Manwë. He was, of course, very definitely _not_ thinking 'I told you so'. He was too nice.

"I'm going to learn how to play the piano," said Varda.

"Really?"

Varda nodded, and poured herself some more tea. "Pianos are beautiful instruments," she said. "I've always wanted to learn how to play them. I will write rousing piano concertos."

They sat quietly for a few minutes.

"The salmon?" said Manwë at last.

"Well," said Varda slowly, "would you like to hear the good news first, or the bad news first?"

"The bad news," said Manwë.

"We are going to starve," said Varda.

"Oh," said Manwë. "And the good news?"

"No more salmon," said Varda.

"I suppose the eagles did not like to hear what you had to say?"

"The eagles were... offended by my constructive criticism. They told me that they would no longer bring us anything to eat."

"What did you say?" asked Manwë.

"I told them that I didn't care," said Varda. "And I don't. And I said to them that if I saw their ugly eagle faces anywhere near Taniquetil, I'd _really _lose my temper."

Manwë did not like to hear his beloved birds described as having 'ugly eagle faces', but he also did not like it when Varda really lost her temper. He gave her a little unhappy look, which Varda feigned not to notice, because if she noticed it, she would feel guilty.

"What did the eagles say to that?" asked Manwë eventually.

Varda scowled at the table. "They laughed," she said.

Manwë, being wise, did not.

* * *

There was nothing to eat for breakfast. Fëanor had retired from the culinary industry, abandoning his spatula for the more familiar hammer and anvil. Sauron, a hardworking Dark Lord, had little time to waste on such trivial things as a morning snack. Lórien had disappeared, leaving Mandos and Nienna to sit in the empty kitchen, feeling stunned.

The rats were still rejoicing.

"I do not like this place," said Nienna. "It is giving me a headache."

Lórien returned, unscathed. "I found a garden!" he announced. "I need you to cry over it, Nienna."

Nienna raised her eyebrows in surprise, but followed him out the door.

Mandos sat in the kitchen for a while, dazed. Like Nienna, he did not like Barad-dûr. It made him feel harassed. He wished he were back in the quiet, peaceful, dark-in-a-good-way Halls of the Dead, laying down the law and doing paperwork with his cat beside him. He hoped someone was remembering to feed his cat.

Mandos wondered who Manwë had placed in charge of his Halls. Ulmo, perhaps. Mandos hoped not. Ulmo would get everywhere wet. Tulkas... no. Tulkas would find the Halls far too gloomy; he wouldn't come near them. Aulë would be too busy to take the job. Manwë would be too busy as well, or else he would have been a perfect Doomsman of the Valar. Except he wouldn't have the heart to doom anyone.

That left Oromë as the best choice. Mandos did not know Oromë very well, but he seemed to be a decent Vala, despite his inordinate love of hunting. He would keep everything organized. At the very worst, he would place his hunting trophies all over the Halls, but that would not be very bad. Moose heads could be detached from walls with little difficulty.

Nienna and Lórien returned. They were holding round, red fruit in their hands.

"Breakfast!" said Lórien proudly, handing Mandos one.

"What is this?" asked Mandos, holding it up and staring at it doubtfully.

"I have no idea," said Lórien. "I found some weeds outside, and Nienna came and cried over them, and stuff started growing. This looks edible, doesn't it?"

Mandos looked at his siblings. "You haven't tasted it, have you?" he asked shrewdly. "You want me to take the first bite, and if it doesn't kill me, you'll have some too."

Nienna and Lórien nodded, unashamed.

Mandos sighed, and took a bite. What was the worst that could happen? If it were poisonous, at least Fëanor was nowhere near, and would not be able to save him for the third time.

"Is it good?" chorused Nienna and Lórien.

It was juicy. It had many small seeds. It tasted vaguely familiar. "It's fine," said Mandos.

Lórien and Nienna nibbled their samples of the red fruit. "There is plenty of it," said Nienna. "We won't starve."

"Then it looks as though we're stuck here indefinitely," said Mandos. "What year is it anyway?"

"Don't know," said Lórien. "When will Legolas go over the sea?"

"Year 1541, by Shire Reckoning," replied Nienna promptly.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Then Mandos said, "I think we have miscalculated."

Nienna selected another fruit, and asked, "How?"

"According to what normally happens in Middle-earth," said Mandos, "there is a large, climactic battle in Mordor, and some weird gollum creature tosses Sauron's One Ring in Orodruin, and then Barad-dûr falls apart."

They were quiet for a few more minutes. "I guess we're in a bad place," said Lórien eventually.

"It won't happen for some time," said Nienna. "We can evacuate if things look grim."

"How can we evacuate without Sauron realizing that something bad is going to happen to him?" asked Mandos. "He could really mess up history all by himself if he knew the plans of the free peoples of Middle-earth. He could defeat them easily."

"We should have stuck with our first plan," said Nienna, "and tried to get Legolas over the sea as quickly as possible."

"Aragorn ruined that particular plan," said Lórien. "He's keeping Legolas occupied."

The three Valar looked at each other worriedly.

"And I wonder," said Nienna, "why Sauron tried to have Erestor dragged all the way to Mordor."

"We could ask him," said Lórien.

Mandos and Nienna laughed.

* * *

Most of the Valar, who firmly believed that mathematics were a lesser form of evil, were of the opinion that Morgoth had lured Sauron to the Dark Side with trigonometry. Sauron knew this. It amused him.

Sauron sat in his throne room with a piece of paper, a pen, and some ink, and played games with numbers. He had just performed a complicated mathematical maneuver that would have made Manwë nauseous if he'd been watching, and was feeling pleased with himself.

The Valar came into the room. They seemed to be on a mission of some sort.

"You three look ridiculous when you try to look determined," said Sauron snidely, putting the piece of paper away. "What is it?"

"Sauron," said Mandos in a confrontational manner, "why did you have Erestor abducted?"

"Erestor?" asked Sauron.

"An Imladris Elf," elaborated Mandos.

"Oh, him," said Sauron.

"Yes, him," said Mandos.

"I don't see why I should make my plans known to you," said Sauron. "It will be very dull for me to have to explain to you in painstaking detail everything I do. Anyway, don't you enjoy living on the edge, waiting for exciting things to happen unexpectedly?"

"Not really," said Mandos.

"Well, that's your problem," said Sauron.

"By the way," said Mandos, "we discovered something to eat."

"Really?" Sauron began to look interested, instead of moody and mean.

Mandos tossed Sauron a piece of fruit, and Sauron caught it most dexterously. "What is this?" he asked suspiciously, squinting at it. "Will it kill me if I eat it?"

"It has not killed any of us," said Mandos.

Sauron announced that he wasn't going to eat a mysterious piece of fruit before he had seen one of the Valar taking a bite of it first. Mandos said he wasn't biting it after Sauron had touched it. Sauron flung it at Mandos's feet, and that was that.

"Go and amuse yourselves somehow," said Sauron. "Stop bothering me."

The Valar slunk off. Sauron picked up his piece of paper, and started playing with numbers again, smiling broadly.

* * *

"Hello, Nessa," said Vairë.

"Hello, Vairë," said Nessa. She was jump-roping in Mandos's office. She had been jump-roping for some ten or fifteen minutes, and was not yet out of breath.

Vairë hovered warily in the doorway, trying not to get hit with the rope.

"Did you come here for something?" asked Nessa, jumping around.

"Yes," said Vairë. "I came to pick up some paperwork. I need to withdraw a mortal from the Halls."

"Really," said Nessa. "I don't think that's possible."

"I'm sure it is," said Vairë. "I just need to do enough paperwork." She looked around her husband's office, wincing. Just _finding_ the appropriate forms to fill out would take several mortal lifetimes. "You know," she said, "Mandos won't be too happy when he comes back and finds his office like this."

"Like what?"

"Like unbounded devastation," said Vairë. She poked through some coffee-stained, crumpled pieces of parchment on a desk. "If I remember correctly, there were some filing cabinets somewhere."

"Oh," said Nessa. "I moved them out of the office. There was no room for the indoor swimming pool, otherwise."

Vairë looked at the indoor swimming pool. "To clarify things for you, Nessa, when I said that Mandos wasn't going too happy, I meant that he would absolutely homicidal."

Nessa smiled, still jump-roping. "Doesn't matter," she said. "I can run fast."

* * *

"What is this 'Grand Plan' that you've been hinting at for so long?" asked Caranthir one day.

Maedhros let an enigmatic smile play about his lips. He was getting very good at his enigmatic smiles. They drove his brothers crazy. Still smiling enigmatically, he carefully dabbed sparkly glue on his piece of origami paper. "You'll find out," he said. "Very soon."

**TBC...**


	28. Character Death

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

'_Then he died; but he had neither burial nor tomb, for so fiery was his spirit that as it sped his body fell to ash, and was borne away like smoke...'_

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

It was time for Maedhros's plan to come to fruition. Maedhros had been making the posterboard signs for a long time, decorating them with sparkly markers and glitter and pretty, attention-grabbing stickers. He had been chatting with Mandos's disgruntled Maiar, and dropping little hints to his brothers, preparing them for the day of escape.

At last, everything was ready.

"Today," Maedhros announced, "is the day."

His brothers looked at him skeptically. "Oh, is it really?" asked Celegorm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Maedhros.

"So, what will we do?" asked Amrod.

"We will stroll out of Tulkas's Halls," said Maedhros, "heading for the Outfitting Department, where we will find our new bodies, all ready to be put on and worn in Valinor. We will put them on, go to Valinor, and live happily ever after."

"Really?"

"Yes," said Maedhros.

"It sounds very... simple," said Maglor.

"That," said Maedhros, "is the brilliance of it."

"Shouldn't there be some sort of distraction or something?" asked Caranthir.

"There will be," said Maedhros.

Suddenly... there was.

* * *

Tulkas had read his entire book of knock-knock jokes to his fëar. He had done so three times. He had written to the publishers of the book, asking if there would be a sequel, but there had been no reply, since angry protesters had burned down the publishing house a long time ago. The protesters had been slightly deranged, because Tulkas's incessant outpouring of knock-knock jokes had driven them around the bend. 

Tulkas did not know this. He only knew that book of new knock-knock jokes was unlikely. Therefore, he had started writing knock-knock jokes himself.

Nessa was helping him.

"Knock, knock," said Tulkas.

"Who is there?" asked Nessa.

"Donkey," said Tulkas.

"Donkey who?" asked Nessa.

"Donkey oaty," said Tulkas.

They laughed.

"I don't think donkeys eat oats," said Nessa when they were done laughing.

"Really?" asked Tulkas. He was lounging elegantly in a new deck chair, under the skylight that Nessa had had installed in Mandos's office.

"I think they eat grass," said Nessa. "But I'm not sure. Deer are more in my field."

"Deer eat grass," said Tulkas. "And deer are like donkeys."

"Except deer are prettier," said Nessa.

"That's my dear," said Tulkas punnily.

Nessa giggled at her husband fondly. She was riding around Mandos's office on her unicycle with three golf balls balanced skillfully on her head. "You are hilarious," she cooed. "Such a wit!"

Nessa flung herself off of the unicycle and into Tulkas's arms. The golf balls battered his head like large hailstones. "I love your sense of humor," she said.

Tulkas beamed at her.

Then a bunch of enraged Maiar battered the door down and started running around like headless chickens. Headless _enraged _chickens.

"Strike, strike, strike!" yelled the Maiar, waving their signs.

**_STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE! _**said the signs.

The Maiar started striking the surprised Valar with their signs.

"Down with the oppressors!" yelled the Maiar. "Up with the downtrodden masses!"

This, of course, was the distraction that Maedhros had planned so carefully. It had not taken the Elf very long to persuade the Maiar that Mandos would be appeased if Nessa and Tulkas were driven from his Halls.

"Sacrilege!" yelled the Maiar, seeing that Mandos's office had been destroyed. "Destruction of private property!"

The Maiar went even more berserk. They started smashing Nessa's hapless unicycle to pieces, whilst others started frantically filing the misplaced paperwork.

"Soon Mandos will return!" the Maiar cried. "The end is near!"

"Calm down," suggested Tulkas.

The Maiar did not hear them. They were experiencing great panic at the sight of all the work they would have to do before Mandos came back.

"Nessa," said Tulkas, "I think we should leave."

"Yes, dear," said Nessa.

* * *

For our heroes and villains, many hundreds of years had passed since they had been on 'Earth', fighting each other in Luthy's bedroom. For Luthy, only ten minutes had passed since said heroes and villains had exited her apartment, leaving her alone with Melkor and her beloved computer. 

With Melkor threatening the existence of her beloved computer, Luthy was putty in his hands. Since Luthy was not really putty, and Melkor did not really have hands, this phrase is meant figuratively.

_It was the dawning of a bright new millennium, a beautiful, clear day, when Melkor cast off the makeshift shackles of the lesser Valar, and returned to Middle-earth. _wrote Luthy. Then she asked, "Er, wouldn't a dark, dismal, stormy night be more... atmospheric?"

**_I defy atmosphere! _**said the Melkor-pop-up obnoxiously. **_And I see through your pathetic trick! You are trying to buy more time for yourself, young lady, but I am not fooled. Write on!_**

Luthy wrote on.

* * *

Dark Lord, kinslayer, and Valar were in a convivial mood. 

Sauron was in a convivial mood because his work had been going well of late. In perhaps as few as fifty more years, he would be powerful enough to reclaim Middle-earth. The Valar had not been interfering with his career. They had been gardening. Sauron had asked them to do this somewhere where his minions wouldn't have to see the garden - the sight of flowers and vegetables growing in Mordor might easily lower their morale.

Fëanor was in a convivial mood because he had finished building his car, and Sauron did not know he had finished building his car, and best of all, the car actually worked. When Sauron's inspectors came to inspect the car, Fëanor assured them that it was progressing well, and then pretended to be unable to start it, apologizing with convincing, but faked, sincerity. When Sauron's spies came sneaking by, Fëanor had pretended not to notice them, had kicked the car's wheels and cursed and begged, until the spies returned to Sauron to tell him that Fëanor was making absolutely no progress at all. When no one was around, Fëanor practiced his driving. He was getting quite good at not running over things.

The Valar were in convivial moods for different reasons. Nienna was happy because her all-vegetable diet was making her thin and healthy. Lórien was happy because everyone else was, and Mandos was happy because he had hopes that soon history would start looping, and he could finish his job and go home.

The five beings sat around a table convivially, eating stewed turnips.

"Happy new year," said Sauron.

"Happy new year," chorused the others, beaming.

"A new millennium has dawned," said Sauron reflectively, sitting back in his chair and popping the last piece of stewed turnip in his mouth. He decided that once he ruled the world, he would never eat another stewed turnip again.

Fëanor, smiling euphorically at his bowl of vegetable mush, was considering the various exciting uses for his completed car. He saw Sauron looking at him quizzically, and, unsure of what conversational development he had missed, said, "Yes, I agree", thus confusing Sauron even more.

"I'm glad to hear you agree," said Sauron eventually. "Is there anything else to eat?"

The next moment, Fëanor died.

It happened very quickly. One moment he was sitting at the table, full of good cheer and stewed turnips, and the next moment Morgoth was in the room, looking vicious and confused. Fëanor, not one to look at his worst enemy and remain rational, leapt to his feet, drew his sword, and got batted across the room by Morgoth. He hit the wall, and promptly died. His body seemed to crumble away, and soon only a little pile of ash remained.

It was all very sad and sudden.

When Fëanor sat up again, it took him less than three seconds to realize what had happened. The sight of his misty hands gave him a jolt, and then he yelled, "_What_? I died _again_?"

Convivial mood gone, he jumped lightly to his feet. His ghostly robes billowed around him. In that regard, being in the Halls of Mandos was much like being underwater. Fëanor was so furious that he stomped his foot, calling Morgoth all the bad names that came readily to mind. This took a good ten minutes.

Fëanor had been gone from the Halls of Mandos for a long time. He had grown used to be alive. He had enjoyed himself. He had hoped that maybe he would not die again, that maybe he could stay out of the Halls of Mandos forever.

What would Mandos, Nienna, and Lórien do without him? The poor things couldn't take care of themselves. As for Sauron... well, Fëanor suspected that he knew which side the Maia was really on.

"Fëanor...? You're back...?" asked another fëa faintly.

"No, I'm not back," snarled Fëanor. "You are sleeping, and this is a nightmare. Get out of my way."

Fëanor shoved his way past all the stunned fëar who had congregated when he had first appeared, and stomped off, having doubts. He was fairly certain he was back. He knew he was dead, at least, and probably in the Halls of Mandos. The problem was that the Halls of Mandos looked a lot... different. He did not remember the pink and orange wallpaper. He did not remember the fëar looking quite so harassed.

Then Fëanor remembered that these halls were now the Halls of Tulkas. Clearly, Tulkas had not been a blessing disguised as an idiot. He was just an idiot.

Unfortunately, Fëanor would have to convince this idiot that Morgoth was back. Then Tulkas would have to convince the other Valar that Morgoth was back. Then the Valar would worry about it for some time, and eventually decide to do nothing. That was the way the Valar generally operated.

Or, thought Fëanor, he could figure out a way to defeat Morgoth himself, without the help of the Valar.

Fëanor considered this, and then decided to look for Tulkas first. Perhaps the Vala would surprise him with some clever strategies.

He sighed, and began what would be a rather lengthy search for Tulkas.

* * *

Luthy sat in front of her possessed computer, in a state of shock. 

"Did I just kill Fëanor?" she cried.

**_Yes _**said Morgoth smugly. **_Wasn't it fun? _**

**TBC...**


	29. PART THREE: Sauron Grows Up

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

'_From splendour he fell through arrogance to contempt for all things save himself, a spirit wasteful and pitiless.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

'Stupefied' is the word that best describes Mandos, Lórien, Nienna, and Sauron at the moment when Morgoth returned and finished off Fëanor. Morgoth was nearly as stupefied as the rest of them. He had hardly expected to find three Valar lounging around in Mordor, of all places.

Sauron recovered the fastest, probably because his instinct for self-preservation was the most highly developed. "Welcome to Barad-dûr, Most Exalted One," he said, flinging himself prostrate on the floor.

Sauron was on the floor for two reasons. For one thing, it looked respectful. Morgoth appreciated respect. The second reason was that if Morgoth continued to swipe people against walls, Sauron would not be an obvious target.

"Make him fall asleep," hissed Nienna at Lórien.

"I cannot!" Lórien half-wailed. "I've been trying!"

The Valar stood up, reminding themselves that the odds were three against one, in their favor. Mandos could not help but also remember that it had been fourteen against one for a while, and Morgoth had nearly defeated the rest of them anyway.

"Well, if it isn't the Doomsman of the Valar," said Morgoth, pretending to notice Mandos for the first time. Everyone knew he was pretending, but it was still insulting. "And look! He has brought his little brother and sister too."

"How did you get out of the Void?" Mandos asked teetering between being curious or devastated.

"It's a trade secret," replied Morgoth. "Get off the floor, Sauron, and find somewhere for Mandos and his siblings to stay."

Sauron scrambled to his feet, and started yelling commands in the Black Speech. Orcs came and dragged the three Valar away before they could continue to do nothing.

Sauron and Morgoth were alone.

"You have shrunk," observed Morgoth.

"Yes, my Lord," said Sauron. He was touched that Morgoth had noticed.

"In fact, you are a little child," said Morgoth.

"That is true, my Lord," said Sauron. He looked rather dazed, and very small and pathetic. It was a defense mechanism of his. Small, pathetic people do not look like the potential overthrowers of powerful Dark Lords.

"Why did you have three Valar staying in Barad-dûr with you?" asked Morgoth. He lumbered across the room, collapsed into a chair, and put his large feet on the table. Chair and table creaked unhappily under the strain.

"I was lulling them into a false sense of superiority, Master," said Sauron carefully.

"Oh, really? And how long have you been... lulling them?"

"Only a few years, Master. I have been preparing armies for You, so that when You returned, You could conquer the world again."

Morgoth smirked loutishly. "Very good. I knew you would be loyal to me."

Sauron groveled. "Yes, Master. Of course, Master."

Morgoth was very happy to be back, with his loyal Maia serving him once more. Soon the world would be under his sway. But he was curious... "Did the Valar shrink you?" he asked.

"I do not think so, Master."

"Then why are you so small?"

"I do not know, Master. It just happened."

"Nothing 'just happens'. There is probably an explanation, and anyway, I can't have you running about being so small. I might accidentally stand on you."

"I would be honored," said Sauron. "Tread upon me as often as You wish, Master."

"Stop being so obsequious," said Morgoth irritably, sitting back in his chair. "I suspect that you are in the form of a child because the other Valar think of you as a child. Not much of a threat, but always complaining, and wanting more than you deserve."

Sauron had not considered this possibility before.

"I, of course," continued Morgoth, "would never think of you as a child. You are my valued servant, and should be grateful."

Sauron nodded wordlessly. He was still thinking.

"Therefore, Sauron, it is time for you to grow up," Morgoth said.

* * *

Nienna was sitting on some strange instrument of torture, her feet dangling above the floor, tears rolling down her cheeks. Lórien was sitting in a corner, chewing on his hair nervously. Mandos was pacing back and forth across the room, the word 'doom' running through his mind over and over. He had stopped teetering, and was thoroughly devastated. He had only been gone from Valinor for a few thousand years, and in that short space of time, Morgoth had somehow contrived to escape. 

"What will we do?" asked Lórien at last, since no one else had broken the long silence.

"Nothing," said Nienna succinctly, "because there's nothing we _can _do."

Mandos carefully skirted his way around a horrifying device, and paced some more.

"Your powers have diminished, probably from living in Middle-earth for so long," continued Nienna, "and I was only ever capable of crying a lot."

"Is there any way we coul—" began Lórien, but at that moment, the door swung open and a tall, handsome man appeared in the entranceway, a few Orcs and other minions crowding behind him in evil anticipation. He was wearing dusty black robes of the sinister, unfriendly variety. He was also wearing a very smug expression. His slitted eyes gleamed with an unholy delight.

Nienna decided that she was not going to get used to seeing Sauron as an adult. It was too weird and disturbing.

"Isn't this wonderful?" Sauron asked.

The Valar did not think the situation was wonderful. They wrestled with their new instincts and managed not to cringe at the sound of his voice, but their eyes were already big and round.

"You underestimated me," said the Maia.

There was nothing that could be said to that, because unfortunately it was true.

"You thought I was cute little Sauron, the clueless child, the harmless Maia. ...And you were so wrong, weren't you?"

They looked at him silently. He scared them more than Morgoth had.

Sauron saw how frightened they were, and a slight smile crossed his face. "My Lord Melkor said I could play with you before He asked you a few questions. ...This is a Dark Lord's fondest dream, you know. To have three Valar... helpless... at his mercy."

He got the meaningful pauses just right. He'd had practice.

He turned around, shouted something in the Black Speech at his minions, shut the door and gave the three Valar a sharp-toothed smile. "Sorry," he said. "Couldn't resist that."

There was a long, stunned silence. Then Nienna said faintly and accusingly, "You scared me."

"Good," said Sauron with a total lack of remorse. "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch, after being a nonthreatening ten year-old for a millennia."

"Then that was all an act?" asked Lórien hopefully.

"I wasn't lying, Lórien, and Eru knows I wasn't _acting_," replied Sauron snappishly. "This _is_ a Dark Lord's fondest dream, and, sadly, making you all suffer is an opportunity I'll have to pass up on. Don't think I wouldn't enjoy it. However..."

The Maia faltered for the first time.

"What do you want?" asked Mandos cautiously.

"I did perfectly well as a Dark Lord without Melkor," said Sauron. "But I cannot defeat him without your assistance, and you cannot defeat him without mine. I am sure you want him defeated."

"Of course," said Mandos. Sauron's request came as no surprise to him; he had been half-expecting it. "Will you help us escape?"

Sauron nodded. "I shall, if you promise not to interfere when I become Dark Lord again."

"It seems reasonable to me," said Nienna, who wanted to get out of Sauron's Torture Chamber as quickly as possible.

"I don't have much time," said Sauron urgently. "We can work out the details later."

"All right, then," said Mandos. "The three of us will not interfere. I cannot speak for the other Valar."

"Fine," said Sauron. "Come over here, Mandos," he continued in businesslike tones, pointing to the middle of the floor. "You should be the simplest one to do."

Mandos complied, marveling at how trusting he was being, and stood still while Sauron circled him. A moment later, the exact image of the Vala appeared in the corner of the room, glaring in a familiar fashion. Sauron smiled triumphantly. "I was right. You were simple."

"What have you done?" asked Nienna, coming forward when Sauron called her.

"Nothing too complicated," said Sauron, circling again. "Merely making illusions of you, so that Melkor won't miss you when you escape." A new Nienna appeared beside the Mandos-illusion.

"They look just like us," said Nienna, surprised.

"Of course," said Sauron, circling Lórien. "I am the Master of Illusions, after all, a fact to which Gorlim will attest." A new Lórien appeared next to his sibling-illusions. "They have to be convincing. I don't approve of shoddy work."

"Hello," said the Lórien-illusion. "I am Lórien. I have a brother and a sister. I like to sleep a lot."

"They speak, too!" cried Nienna.

"They speak, too!" mimicked the Nienna-illusion, annoyingly.

"They have to speak," said the Mandos-illusion. "Or else Melkor would notice that something was wrong. He's not entirely brainless."

Sauron was grinning from ear to ear. "They're perfect," he said. "I do not think I have made such realistic illusions for years."

"Except Mandos doesn't speak that much," said Nienna.

"Which makes everything simpler," said Sauron. "It is difficult to make illusions speak. I'm sure that Melkor will be content to see the three of you cowering in terror at His feet, so He won't notice if you don't do a lot of talking."

"No offense," said Nienna, "but how do we know that you are on our side?"

"Apart from the fact that I'm letting you all run loose, making illusions of you to fool my Master, and in other ways risking my life for you?" asked Sauron, one eyebrow raised.

Nienna decided that her question had been rather stupid. "Well, you are acting very self-sacrificing," she said.

"Not entirely," said Sauron. "I do expect something from the three of you, after all."

"What?" asked Lórien.

"I want you to fetch my Ring for me," said Sauron.

The three Valar gaped at him.

"We cannot do that!" cried Nienna. "That would make you far too powerful!"

"Powerful enough to defeat Melkor," said Sauron. "He is still recovering from His stay in the Void. He is weak. When I have the Ring, I will be able to overthrow Him."

"Yes, but then you would reconquer the world," said Lórien. "You would enslave all mankind, kill all the Elves, and turn Middle-earth into a barren wasteland."

Sauron had a dreamy expression on his face, but he snapped out of his happy thoughts and said, "You have thought all this through, haven't you?"

"It's nearly happened before," said Lórien.

Sauron took a deep breath. "It will never happen," he said. "I will never, _ever _win. Don't you realize that? Do you realize how many times I've _nearly_ won? When I served Melkor, we had control over Middle-earth for a time, but then Manwë's host appeared. I escaped. I rose to power again, and the Númenoreans defeated me. I, in turn, defeated the Númenoreans, and then got drowned. I was rising to power again, and the Last Alliance came along. I was gathering all my strength for a final effort, and then a Halfling tossed my Ring into Mt. Doom. And then it happened all over again. And all over again. And again and again and again, because history has not stopped repeating itself."

The Valar were silent.

"So," said Sauron, "I may defeat Melkor. I may take over most of Middle-earth. But Legolas will escape. He will sail to Valinor, having no reason to remain here, and I will lose. Again."

The Maia buried his head in his hands, the very picture of a despairing Dark Lord. "I think," he mumbled, "that the very least you can do is take my Ring from Bilbo and bring it back to me."

The Valar exchanged looks. Nienna looked sympathetic, Lórien looked sad, but Mandos merely looked slightly more somber than usual.

"All right," said Mandos at last. "But it will take us a while to get to the Shire."

Sauron cleared his throat. "Not if you each ride a Fell Beast," he said. He looked up at them. "They are not very hard to manage."

"Er... you want us to ride... a Fell Beast?" asked Nienna.

"Yes!" said Sauron, who seemed to have gotten over his moment of despair. "And hurry! My Master will be coming at any moment!"

Sauron pushed them out of the room.

"Is there anyway you could make us invisible?" asked Lórien.

Sauron shook his head. "I could make you invisible to mortal eyes, but all things dead and evil would see you very clearly."

"Oh. Well, in that case, it doesn't sound like a very good idea," said Lórien.

"Just be quiet and don't make a spectacle of yourselves," said Sauron. Such advice can be well applied to many situations in life.

The Maia watched the three Valar sneak away. He smiled to himself, no longer looking much like a despairing Dark Lord.

Sauron straightened his robes and hurried back to his master.

Curufin was good, but when it came to being crafty, Sauron was far, far better.

**TBC...**


	30. The Outfitting Room

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER THIRTY

'_In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

Luthy sat in front of her computer. She had been writing nonstop for about twenty minutes, and her fingers were sore. Every time she tried to slow down, Morgoth would freeze her computer, and then mock her efforts as she tried to save it.

That was not the worst of it. The worst of it was that Fëanor had died thirty seconds into the new fanfic.

Where had hecome from? Why were Mandos, Nienna, and Lórien in Barad-dûr? Luthy could only assume that Sauron had captured them somehow, and yet they had seemed rather happy... until Morgoth had showed up.

Luthy could not believe that she had killed Fëanor. She was in love with Fëanor! Fëanor would never die in such a pathetic way! Swatted against a wall by an evil Vala! Never!

There was no way to save him. Morgoth would not let her delete any of the story. He forced her to type and type and type.

At this moment in the story, Morgoth was alone. He was sitting in a chair that had been recently vacated by Lórien, and he was feeling very sorry for himself.

Luthy could not believe that either. She could not believe that she was sitting in her own apartment, at her own computer, being forced to write Morgoth angst. The whole situation had the feel of a cruel joke.

**_No one had ever attempted to understand the complicated inner workings of Morgoth's mind_ **dictated Morgoth by means of another pop-up.

"I bet no one wants to," muttered Luthy to herself, typing out the sentence angrily.

**_I'll have none of your back talk! _**snarled a pop-up.

The computer froze. Luthy hammered grimly at the escape button.

**_Muahahahaha! _**cackled Morgoth evilly.

"All right, all right," said Luthy. "I'll type your stupid angst."

_**Few people could even comprehend the deep thoughts that ran through Morgoth's mind**_ dictated Morgoth.

Luthy could not believe that she was writing such tripe.

* * *

"What?" boomed Tulkas. 

"Morgoth returned," repeated Fëanor, "while you were playing ring-around-the-rosy."

Tulkas had not actually been playing ring-around-the-rosy. He had been avoiding outraged Maiar.

Fëanor had assumed his favorite attitude, and had his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised scornfully. The fact that he barely came up to Tulkas's knee did not daunt him in the slightest.

"Oh!" said Tulkas, as this information sunk into his head. "I have to stop him!" he cried.

"That would be the general idea," said Fëanor.

Tulkas sprinted across the Halls of Mandos.

"Are you just going to leave without me?" Fëanor yelled after him. "After I gave you such vital information?"

Tulkas was already gone.

Fëanor had no intention of being left behind while the Vala knocked some sense into Melkor. He huffed in pure frustration, and then hurried through the Halls of Mandos. When Nessa wandered by, looking vague and confused and worried, he ducked behind a curtain, and, by happy chance, discovered a door.

On the door was a sign that read:

**OUTFITTING ROOM**

That seemed promising. Fëanor flung open the door and stepped into the room.

He blinked.

The room was filled with bodies hanging up neatly on coatracks. At first, the place looked like it contained the remnants of a horrible massacre, but a moment later, Fëanor realized what it was. This was where fëar collected their new bodies before they returned to Valinor!

It made perfect sense. Fëanor smiled to himself, and started looking for his new body.

Unfortunately, the Maiar in charge of the outfitting room spent most of their time mending bodies, not creating new ones. Since Fëanor's body had once again been completely incinerated, it would take a long, long time for them to make him a replacement.

"Hmm," said Fëanor to himself. He turned around and saw a plaque on a wall. The plaque said:

_All bodies are subject to change without notice. _

In a corner, he found some pieces of paper that were labeled: WASHING INSTRUCTIONS.

Wash with soap and warm water.

Towel dry.

_Do not iron._

"Hmm," said Fëanor again.

Fëanor decided that since his own body was unavailable, he would borrow someone else's. After all, he was desperate, and appearances, he reminded himself, do not matter quite so much when one is desperate.

When he found a body that suited his tastes, and tried to put it on, the whole thing rapidly burnt up. Fëanor had a very fiery fëa.

Fëanor was about to say 'hmm' again when the door began to open. He ducked behind Turgon, and watched.

"Well, this looks like the place," said a voice that was unmistakably Celegorm's.

"Ugh, it's kind of freaky," said Amras.

"There you are!" said Maglor, pointing to two identical bodies. "They must be in alphabetical order."

Amrod and Amras hurried over to the bodies and began arguing over which one belonged to whom.

"Hey, Maglor," said Curufin, "how would you like to go back as Daeron?"

Maglor was more than offended by this slight to his singing. "How would you like to go back as Dior?" he snapped.

"I have a feeling that we fëar are not supposed to be running rampant in this room," announced Caranthir triumphantly to no one in particular.

Maedhros had said nothing. He was flinging bodies out of his way in his haste to find his new one. Now he stood up, clinging to it jubilantly. Need it be said, it was as tall as he. "Look!" he cried. "Two hands!"

"Bravo," said Celegorm.

"Hello, sons," said Fëanor, stepping out from behind Turgon.

Seven ghostly jaws dropped.

"I don't seem to have a body," said Fëanor, "and none of you seems to have anything urgent to tell me, so I'll just take Maedhros and be gone." He hoped that the body of one of his sons would hold up a bit better than Fingolfin's had.

Before Maedhros could recover, his father had grabbed his hröa by one of its hands and begun pulling. Maedhros, who had his body at last, was not ready to part with it. He refused to let go of the other hand. For a few moments they tugged and yanked frenziedly. Eventually the inevitable occurred and Maedhros's body simply tore in half.

Maedhros stared down at his remains in horror. Fëanor was not quite so appalled, but it wasn't his body that was lying in pieces on the floor.

Maedhros, recovering his power of speech, choked out a fancy Quenyan word that even Sauron would have blanched at saying.

"Dear me," said Fëanor blandly. "What language."

"Don't get paternal on me now, after all these years," said Maedhros, his voice shaky with fury. "First you ruined my life, and now you have ruined my next life _in advance_!"

"That's me," said Fëanor, shrugging. "Always lowering the standards."

Maedhros actually spluttered with rage.

Fëanor realized that it was time to go. He ran out of the room, and sprinted through the Halls of Mandos.

He had to find a way to get back into Middle-earth, so that he could escape his vengeful son.

And so that he could defeat Morgoth too, of course.

* * *

"'Valued servant'," muttered Sauron to himself. "Hah. He must think I am a complete idiot." 

Sauron was in a bad mood. He sat in a corner of the battlements, staring vaguely into nothingness, with a slight frown on his face. He was thinking. If he had known the circumstances of the next time he would be able to sit and think for hours, he might have tried to enjoy this moment of painless contemplation a little more.

Ringwraith Three had to clear his nonexistent throat several times before Sauron even bothered to look at him.

"What?" snapped Sauron.

"Master, there's a girl..." began Three pathetically.

"Really. A girl?" Sauron arched his perfect eyebrows. "And?"

"She's standing at the gate, demanding that you come out and engage in single combat with her, Master," said Three.

"Amazing how all these things suddenly happen at once," remarked Sauron. He stood up. "Lord Melkor is unaware of this development?"

"At the moment, yes, Master," said Three.

"Very well. I shall deal with her myself," said Sauron. "But first, I have orders for you and your fellow Ringwraiths."

"Yes, Master?"

"I want you to hunt down an Elf by the name of Legolas," said Sauron. "He should not be too hard to find. When you have him, bring him back to me secretly. No one must know that I sent my servants out to get him."

"Yes, Master. We shall be very secretive," said Three.

"Keep the screeching to a minimum, if you can," said Sauron. "It may scare people, but it gives you no hope of sneaking up on anyone."

"We shall be sneaky, Master," said Three.

"And whatever you do, do not kill Legolas, or let him escape to Valinor. "

"Yes, Master. We shall go at once," said Three.

"You'll have to take the horses," said Sauron, "because Mandos and the others are riding the Fell Beasts."

Three left. Sauron walked over to the battlements and peered over the side. He had very good eyesight, and with it, he could see a familiar-looking girl standing at his gate, waving her sword and yelling.

It took a few seconds before he realized who she was. She had called him 'Harry Potter' and nearly thrown him out a window.

Sauron smiled to himself. He was still in a bad mood, but he was seeing new possibilities at every moment.

"Greetings, Amanda-Lynn!" he shouted down at her.

Amanda-Lynn jumped nervously, and whirled around to glare up at him. "Come down and fight me!" she yelled. "I shall rid the world of your evil presence!"

"I am very sorry," said Sauron. "I do not really have the time to fight you at present. My Master and I are taking over the world."

"Your master?" echoed Amanda-Lynn, a hint of tentativeness slipping into her voice.

Sauron nodded sadly. "He is even worse than me. If you _must_ kill us, you should kill Him first, while you're fresh, and _then_ you can rid the world of my evil presence."

He paused, to let this sink in.

"You see, I _may_ be an inconsequential Maia, one who is certainly not any match for your _great_ strength and power," continued Sauron, "but destroying _me_ might tire _you_, and then my Master would mash you into _pulp_ before you could say 'ouch, that hurt'."

She waved her sword again. Her arm was going to get very tired soon. "It doesn't matter!" she yelled. "I am the daughter of Varda and Manwë Súlimo!"

"Really?" Sauron arched his eyebrows again. "Do they know you are in Middle-earth associating with nasty Maiar? This is a big, dangerous world, after all. They might be worried about your well-being."

"I have powers!" yelled Amanda-Lynn.

"Care to demonstrate?" Sauron lounged against his wall and looked down at her with entirely unconcealed amusement.

Amanda-Lynn pointed at the wall and muttered something.

For a long, unsuspenseful moment, nothing happened.

"Nothing is happening," said Sauron.

Amanda-Lynn yelled at him to be quiet and let her concentrate.

Sauron nodded, waved good-bye, and walked away, leaving her to stew in the heat.

He was not always so considerate.

**TBC...**


	31. Knock, Knock

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thanks for reviewing!

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

'_Sauron stood in the high tower, wrapped in his black thought; but he smiled hearing her voice... He thought to make her captive and hand her over to the power of Morgoth, for his reward would be great.' _

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

"Morgoth is back," breathed Vairë.

Panic would set in later. For now, all Vairë did was sit and stare at her tapestry. "How can this be?" she muttered to herself. Morgoth had simply appeared out of nowhere. He was supposed to be in the Void. The Void was supposed to be inescapable. And Mandos's very thorough security precautions had never been faulty before.

Vairë tried to yank out her recent weaving, (anything to buy a little more time for the unfortunate denizens of Middle-earth), but to no avail. The threads resisted her best efforts.

Nothing like this had never happened before.

At this point, panic washed over her. Vairë leapt up from her loom and ran from her hall, heading in the direction of Taniquetil. She was not going to keep secrets from Manwë any longer. After all, he was the only one who could help her.

He was the only one who would know what to do.

* * *

"I cannot believe we are doing this," said Lórien. "Stealing the Ring of Power from an innocent little hobbit? We'll cease to be good Valar! We'll be villains!" 

"We are hardly in league with Morgoth," said Mandos, mainly in an effort to silence his brother.

"You are right, Mandos," said Nienna. "We are only in league with Morgoth's trusty minion, Sauron. That should count for less."

Mandos scowled, but said nothing more, because the three Valar were getting closer to the stables where the Fell Beasts were kept. Orcs were lazing about in the shadows, glugging grog and singing uncouth songs.

"What's the plan?" asked Nienna softly.

"Do we have one?" asked Lórien.

Mandos shook his head. "We don't have a plan yet," he said. "We'll know what to do when we actually see the fell beasts."

"I hope," muttered Nienna.

They sneaked into the stables, which smelled revolting, like everywhere else in Mordor. They looked at the fell beasts, and each experienced an unpleasant sinking feeling.

The fell beasts were not the friendliest of creatures, nor were they the cleanest, prettiest, or most docile. They were, however, ugly, evil, dirty, and disgusting, and there was nothing they liked more than turning people into little pieces of confetti. They hissed and snarled and slobbered at each other. They screeched and screamed. They flapped their massive wings, eager to fly around and unleash destruction on an innocent populace.

"I think Sauron must have been joking when he suggested flying around on those things," said Lórien, sounding strained, like someone on the verge of hysteria.

"I think," said Mandos, "that he was serious."

"I think he wants us to die," said Nienna. "That's the only explanation."

"He wants us to bring him his Ring first," said Mandos.

"Which might not be the best of ideas," replied Lórien. "Once he has it, he'll destroy Middle-earth."

"Which is why we won't give the Ring to him when we have it," said Mandos.

Nienna and Lórien engaged in a little synchronized blinking. "What?" asked Nienna.

"Of course we cannot give the Ring to Sauron," said Mandos. "We're Valar. We don't assist the Other Side; that wouldn't be right. We can use the Ring ourselves, and get rid of Morgoth once and for all. Then we can destroy the Ring, and Sauron as well."

Lórien and Nienna decided that this was a good idea.

"Now," said Nienna, "how exactly do we ride a fell beast?"

* * *

The Mouth of Sauron, who shall henceforth be known as the MoS for the sake of convenience, possessed brilliant timing in all matters. He had been out on an important mission, and, returning, had discovered that Morgoth had come back to Middle-earth in his absence. Not only had the MoS avoided Morgoth's detection, but he had happened to be loitering outside the stables when the Valar hatched their little scheme. Their conversation had given him a good insight into recent events. 

The MoS wasn't the handsomest man around, but he had the advantage of being a snazzy dresser. He wore black, mainly, and had a very nice, swishy cloak (also black) adorned with sinister black embroidery. A horse-like creature by the name of Cruncher completed his ensemble. It too was black.

The MoS had been taking Cruncher to the stables to refresh itself after the long journey, but he now had second thoughts. With three Valar in the stable, it would not be a good idea for him to going waltzing in with Cruncher. They would grow suspicious.

During their lengthy stay in Barad-dûr, the Valar had never seen the MoS, nor had he seen them. But his Lord had explained their purpose, so the MoS understood that they were not to be hindered in their own mission. Still, he thought that perhaps his Lord did not realize all that the Valar were plotting.

The MoS thought for a moment. He could stay and watch the Valar attempt to mount the fell beasts, a sight that would surely be amusing, or he could go and inform his Lord of everything at once.

He opted on the second course of action. A report of these matters, brought to his Lord immediately, would make his Lord happy. Keeping Sauron happy was, for the most part, the goal of his existence.

Of course, this was because if Sauron was _not _happy, the MoS's existence would probably end pretty quickly.

The MoS went to the Dark Tower, and looked for Sauron. Finding him did not take long. He was sitting at his desk in his office, doodling on a piece of paper. Sauron's surprise at seeing the MoS enter his office with Cruncher behind him was trumped only by the MoS's surprise at seeing Sauron's new look.

"You are taller, my Lord," gasped the MoS involuntarily, dropping his black helmet in surprise.

"Oh, really?" asked Sauron. He watched the MoS's helmet roll around on the floor, looking almost as if he wished the MoS's head were in it. "I thought the ground had just gotten farther away."

As his M shuffled around, Sauron put his quill pen down and gave him his full attention, much to the MoS's dismay. Sauron's full attention was never a comfortable thing to have.

"Did you come to tell me something other than the obvious?" Sauron asked.

"You have sent the Valar to take your Ring, my Lord?" asked the MoS.

Sauron nodded.

"They do not plan on giving it to you, my Lord," said the MoS.

Sauron chuckled. "Of course not," he said.

"I hope you do not mind me asking," said the MoS humbly, "but have you sent them to _claim _your Ring? They are Valar. They could destroy you, my Lord."

Sauron did not take offense. "That is why I must let my Ring destroy _them_," he said. "There are three of them. Do you really think they will unanimously agree on who should wield the Ring?"

"No, my Lord," said the MoS, awed.

"Exactly," said Sauron. "You must remember that my Ring has several powers. Yes, it renders its wearer seemingly invisible, but it also renders him mad."

"What if they resist its powers?" asked the MoS.

"My Ringwraiths are in the area," said Sauron. "They will retrieve the Ring from the Valar."

"Your brilliance amazes me, my Lord," said the MoS.

Sauron was rather susceptible to flattery, but he managed to wave away the praise with some semblance of modesty. Then he said, "You should probably hide."

"Hide, my Lord?"

"Yes," said Sauron. "If I know Melkor, and I suspect I do, one of the first things He will do is kill all my loyal minions. I would prefer for you to live."

"I would prefer to live as well, my Lord," said the MoS.

Sauron rose. He was tall, taller than his M had first thought. He looked scary, which was clearly his intent. The MoS stared up at him, wide-eyed.

"Come here," said Sauron.

The MoS faltered.

"Come on," said Sauron. The Maia watched, smirking, as the MoS slowly crept forward.

"My dear Mouth," Sauron said, very softly, "if you are so set on living, please do not attempt to double-cross me. It may seem like a good idea at the time, but you will most certainly regret it."

"Yes, my Lord," said the MoS hoarsely.

"I see everything," said Sauron.

"Yes, my Lord," said the MoS.

Sauron took a step back and grinned. "Well, then," he said, "I think we understand each other. Have you anything else to report?"

"There's a girl outside," said the MoS, recovering rapidly. "She is waving her arms and yelling a lot."

"That would be Amanda-Lynn," said Sauron, and his grin broadened.

* * *

Sauron might have been cheerful in the presence of the MoS, but he was actually becoming rather worried. The situation was not good, and it was steadily growing worse. In fact, after Amanda-Lynn's unexpected appearance, things began to go even more wrong with shocking speed. 

Sauron, slipping silently through the dark halls of his dark tower, banged into someone who was doing the exact same thing.

Sauron nearly fell over, and the other person did fall over, and landed on the ground with a soft squeak of dismay. She shook her hair out of her eyes and looked up at him, and Sauron and the Lady experienced a moment of mutual horror and revulsion.

"Lúthien!" gasped Sauron, taking an involuntary step backward.

"Sauron!" gasped Lúthien, wriggling away from him.

Lúthien was very short. Sauron was very tall. It was no wonder that they had not seen each other.

"What are you _doing _here?" hissed Sauron. "Did you bring the dog?"

"Vairë sent me," whispered Lúthien rapidly, "to keep Nienna company. And no, I did not bring 'the dog'."

Sauron slumped against the wall again. "Do you realize," he asked, "that Melkor has returned?"

Lúthien's already pale face went paler. "Morgoth?"

Sauron could only nod.

"You'll try to bring me to him, won't you?" asked Lúthien.

"Of course," said Sauron. "You cannot even comprehend how much I hate you."

"Well, you cannot come in physical contact with me," said Lúthien. "Vairë set up an invisible wall before she sent me to Middle-earth. Males cannot come within a meter of me. She said that you could –and I quote– 'look but not touch'. You did not actually run into _me_," she finished. "You ran into my invisible wall."

Sauron took a deep breath. "I might not be able to bring you to Melkor, but I still can't let you go scampering around Barad-dûr , getting into all sorts of mischief," he said. "I'll hide you. Get off the floor."

Lúthien got off the floor. "Thank you," she said.

Sauron was already walking briskly down the hall, not looking back. Lúthien slipped after him, her bare feet making no noise on the slippery stones. She savored the feeling of being alive again, because she had a vague premonition that this state would not last long.

It was impossible to ignore the fact that Lúthien was beautiful. From her head to her toes, every part of her body was perfectly formed and proportioned. She had a pretty, practical face, and the look of someone who is capable of dancing gracefully in a woodland glade, as well as dancing gracefully before Morgoth himself.

Vairë had explained the situation to her before she had left, but it had been very confusing. Mandos, Nienna, and Lórien had apparently come to Middle-earth, and had been living with Sauron in Barad-dûr. When Lúthien Tinúviel had arrived, they had been nowhere to be found, and everyone and everything had been in great disarray.

Suddenly, all of Barad-dûr shook. Lúthien kept her balance with an effort, and Sauron turned back and glared at her, as if she was the one causing the disturbance. After all, anything was possible with Lúthien.

"What's happening?" she asked.

Sauron peered out a slitted window. His eyes widened, and he shook his head in weary disbelief.

The very foundations of Barad-dûr quivered.

**KNOCK, KNOCK. **

"What is happening?" repeated Lúthien. "Who's there?"

"Tulkas," said Sauron, feeling resigned. Obviously his life was not going to get better any time soon. "Tulkas has arrived."

**TBC...**


	32. Toil and Trouble

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

'_They lamented bitterly the fall of Felagund their king, saying that a maiden had dared that which the sons of Fëanor had not dared to do...' _

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Fëanor ran out of the Halls of Mandos. It shouldn't have been possible. He was a floaty, misty fëa, bodiless, and actually quite happy. Mandos would have been horrified to see him on the loose in such a state.

Fëanor had several problems. For one thing, he wasn't certain of his method of returning to Middle-earth. It would be difficult, maybe impossible, but Fëanor defied the impossible; he was that sort of person in both life and death.

His second problem was the matter of Maedhros, who was pursuing him at a great speed.

Fëanor went a little faster, telling himself that he only ran because he was in a hurry to save Middle-earth. The preservation of Middle-earth had never been one of his chief priorities, but it's rather funny how priorities can change so quickly. Fëanor's had changed_ very_ quickly.

Just then, Fëanor ran through his wife. It was a strange experience for both of them.

"Fëanor!" shrieked Nerdanel, whirling around and pointing her parasol at him. "What are you doing here?"

Fëanor gaped at her. He was undergoing a moment where absolutely nothing seemed to make sense. Such moments tend to directly precede nervous breakdowns.

When Fëanor tuned in to reality again, Nerdanel was still ranting at him. "–expect to see _you _here, much less have you run _right through me_! What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry," Fëanor gasped. "I'm still adjusting to disembodiment."

Nerdanel made a little choking sound, and held up a hand apologetically. "I think I need to sit down and hyperventilate," she said. "Give me a few seconds, please."

She sat down and hyperventilated quietly, being the sort of woman who hates to make a scene when a brief display of violent mental agitation will get her point across equally well. Fëanor hovered around anxiously, craning his neck to see if his eldest son was catching up with him. Fortunately, Maedhros seemed to have been thrown off his track.

Nerdanel said, "Does Mandos know you have escaped?"

"I suspect he is otherwise occupied at present," said Fëanor.

"What do you plan on doing?" asked Nerdanel.

"I'm trying to get off Valinor," said Fëanor. "Morgoth has returned, and I must save Middle-earth."

"What a noble aspiration!" said Nerdanel, surprised.

"I do occasionally have them," retorted Fëanor, annoyed.

Nerdanel supposed the statement was a manifestation of her husband's frequently expressed wishful thinking. "How do you plan on leaving Valinor?" she demanded.

"Do the Teleri still build decent ships?" Fëanor asked.

* * *

Tulkas was not particularly smart, but he was no fool. He was not particularly vicious, but he was very good at wrestling. He was one of the few Valar who Morgoth had reason to fear. 

He banged on the doors of Barad-dûr again. He did not really notice that he was causing an earthquake. Nor would he have cared, had he noticed.

"Hey! What are you doing?" yelled someone from far beneath him.

Tulkas looked down, and saw a girl standing near his feet. She had pointed ears, a huge sword, and a mean expression.

"Who are you?" asked Tulkas.

"I am Amanda-Lynn!" yelled the girl hoarsely.

"I didn't ask _what _you are," said Tulkas. "I asked _who _you are."

He had, of course, thought she had said she was a mandolin.

"I am the daughter of Varda and Manwë Súlimo!" yelled the girl. "I have powers! I am here to defeat the Dark Lord!"

Tulkas had not known that Varda and Manwë had a daughter, but he supposed that they were allowed to have their little secrets.

"What exactly are you then?" he asked. "You don't look like a Vala."

"I'm in disguise as an Elf-maid!" yelled Amanda-Lynn. "Who are you?"

"I'm Tulkas," said Tulkas. He felt sad that Varda and Manwë had never told their daughter about him. He had thought that they regarded him as family. 'Uncle Tulkas' would have been such a fine name.

Tulkas smote the great gate again. Amanda-Lynn kept her balance with a cat's grace as the ground rippled underfoot.

Tulkas, squinting down at her, thought that she was very beautiful, though she did not much resemble either of her parents. She possessed cascading blonde curls, while Varda and Manwë both had black hair. Perhaps hers was dyed as well.

Tulkas brought his fist in solid contact with the gate once more, and, as if resigned to the inevitable, it slowly collapsed. Tulkas hurried inside to battle Morgoth.

Amanda-Lynn would have followed, but she was having second thoughts. After all, her powers did not seem to be working very well at the moment. She had been unable to knock holes in the wall. Perhaps she would not be able to use any of her other exceptional talents. On a good day, Amanda-Lynn could conjure up fireballs, dazzle people with sparkly stuff, and pelt them with rose petals. Vána called this 'flower power'.

Vána often appeared to Amanda-Lynn. She had helped her from the start, saying something about how the 'most annoying ones always survive'. Amanda-Lynn did not know who the mysterious 'other ones' were, but she did know that she had survived. And she had powers, too, as well as the love of several noble Elves and Men.

Amanda-Lynn thought she had seen Sauron somewhere before, but she could not quite remember. She was beginning to feel hesitant about fighting him. She had a vague suspicion that flinging flower petals at him would not do him much damage (except psychologically, if she were lucky).

She was considering her options (she could either try to defeat Sauron by herself, or give up, go back to Mirkwood, tell everyone that she had defeated Sauron, and then act surprised when he turned out to be alive), when an eagle came swooping out of the sky. A ghostly form leapt off of the eagle, and ran through the gate into Barad-dûr.

"This is all very strange," said Amanda-Lynn to herself. She decided to wait for more developments before she stormed the dark tower.

* * *

Sauron strode down the hall again, Lúthien trotting after him. He was thankful that he possessed the ability of being calm in a crisis, because so many crises were occurring so rapidly that anyone else in his position would have been a gibbering mess by that point. 

"Tulkas is here!" cried Lúthien. "Surely he can defeat Morgoth."

"I don't know," said Sauron, turning around to glare at her. "Perhaps."

Lúthien gave the Maia a long look. "I suppose you only want to save yourself," she said.

"Of course. Who else have I cause to wish to save?"

"Would it be better for you if Morgoth won, or if Tulkas won?"

"I don't know. I'll find out soon enough."

"I admire your adaptability," said Lúthien. She raked her fingers through her long, downy hair, which was a very calculating move on her part. She knew that such seemingly careless gestures made her look even more beautiful than she looked usually.

To his credit, Sauron did not lose his train of thought. "My adapta–" he began, and then stopped as Fëanor came racing around the corner.

"There you are, Sauron!" said Fëanor.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Sauron. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"I _am_ dead, you idiot," said Fëanor. "How many of the living are translucent?"

Momentarily at a loss for words, Sauron actually growled at him. Fëanor took a step back. Lúthien smirked.

"Only someone with nothing to lose would dare to call me an idiot," said Sauron, "so obviously you _are _dead."

Fëanor was about to reply with another witty insult, but then he saw Lúthien. "Who's she?" he asked.

"I am Lúthien Tinúviel," said Lúthien. "You must be Fëanor."

"Have the two of you met before?" asked Sauron.

"No," said Lúthien sweetly. "His sons killed my son, that's all, and tried to kill me as well."

"Oh," said Sauron, glancing from one to the other. His knowledge of historical Elven interaction was nearly nonexistent.

"I've heard a lot about you," said Fëanor. Far too much, in his opinion."I heard that you and your mortal stole one of my Silmarils from Morgoth."

This was something of which Sauron was painfully aware.

"Yes, we did," said Lúthien. "It's rather sad that your seven sons couldn't accomplish even that much."

"You're lucky that you don't have the Silmaril now," said Fëanor, "because if you did, I would have to kill you for it."

"I highly doubt anyone in your condition could kill a fly," Lúthien retorted.

"_My condition_?"

"Of being dead," clarified Lúthien.

Sauron found himself in the unfamiliar position of breaking up a fight, instead of starting one, participating in one, or making one worse. "How did you get here?" he asked. "You shouldn't have been able to leave the Halls of Mandos."

"My wife and I stole an eagle," said Fëanor. "Very exciting undertaking."

"I'm sure," said Sauron blandly.

Lúthien rolled her eyes. "Eagles like me," she said. "I never had to _steal _one."

Sauron could tell that another spate of bickering was about to break out. He cleared his throat and said, "You both need to hide. If my Master finds you, very bad things will happen to the three of us."

They set off down the hall again. Sauron walked very quickly, and Lúthien nearly had to run to keep up with him.

"Maedhros is after me," said Fëanor, matching the Dark Lord's pace with an effort. This new, grown-up Sauron was taller than even he.

"He's your oldest, isn't he?" asked Sauron.

Fëanor nodded.

"I suppose he's wandering around Barad-dûr as well?"

Fëanor nodded again.

"I hate you and all of your brood," said Sauron. "I really do."

"Sorry," said Fëanor, surprisingly apologetic.

"Hide in the wall," said Sauron. "You're immaterial; you should be able to slip into it."

Fëanor experimented, and found that this was so.

"Sauron!" roared Morgoth from somewhere in Barad-dûr. The whole tower shuddered.

"Just hide somewhere, woman!" snapped the Maia, and he ran down the hallway, leaving the irritated Lúthien behind him.

* * *

Sauron slunk into Morgoth's presence. 

Morgoth was pacing back and forth, clearly agitated. "Tulkas is here!" the Vala grunted. "What is the state of my army?"

"My Lord, many of my –I mean, _Your_– orcs are patrolling the countryside," said Sauron. "Your army is strong, but, at the moment, unprepared to combat a Vala."

"I think this demonstrates a very serious lack of foresight on your part," snarled Morgoth.

"I was not expecting any Valar," said Sauron honestly. "I am very sorry, Master."

"I should hope so," said Morgoth. "But that does not really solve the problem, does it?"

Sauron thought for a moment. "We could pretend You are not at home, Master," he said.

Annoyed, Morgoth slammed Sauron against a wall, but the Maia was not much disconcerted. This treatment, at least, was blessed with the feeling of familiarity. "Or," Sauron wheezed, once he could almost breathe again, "we could give him Mandos. Then he would most assuredly go away, Master."

"That is true..." said Morgoth, letting go of the Maia and looking pensive. "However, I was have been eagerly anticipating causing Mandos to suffer in all sorts of unpleasant ways."

"He might accept Lórien and Nienna in place of Mandos, Master," said Sauron, picking himself off the floor.

"We do not have to give anyone away," said Morgoth. "Tulkas is unaware that I have taken three Valar prisoner. Go and notify him of that at once."

"Yes, Master," said Sauron. He stumbled towards the door.

"Hurry up!" yelled Morgoth, throwing a chair at him. "We do not have all day!"

Sauron hurried up.

**TBC...**


	33. A Little Problem Solving

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reading/reviewing! I'm sorry that I was unable to post this chapter on Monday; I shouldn't have that problem again.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE**

'_In the beginning of Arda Melkor seduced him to his allegiance, and he became the greatest and most trusted of the servants of the Enemy, and the most perilous, for he could assume many forms...'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

Tulkas was standing in front of the moat, engaged in an unexpected foray into the foreign realm of problem solving. The moat was very deep, and filled with hot lava. At first glance, there was no way to get across.

At second glance, there was still no way to get across.

At third, fourth, and fifth glance, followed by a good half hour of baffled staring, there was still no way across.

Tulkas scratched his head.

"Greetings, Tulkas," said Sauron. He was standing on a high tower near Tulkas's head, but far enough from him to be safe. "My Master desires that you depart at once."

"Oh, really?" said Tulkas. "That's too bad. I'm coming to get him."

"No, you aren't," said Sauron. "You are standing over there, admiring my moat, little knowing that Mandos, Lórien, and Nienna are at this very moment cowering in a torture chamber somewhere where you will never find them."

"Huh?" said Tulkas.

Sauron nodded sadly. "Listen, scram, OK?"

Tulkas looked confused. This was because he _was _confused.

"If you stay here," said Sauron, "I can promise you that all sorts of horrible things will happen to those three. Melkor has had thousands of years to think up good ways of making Mandos rue the day he became Eru's favorite jailer."

Tulkas's eyes narrowed. He had not planned on leaving with Morgoth still happy-go-lucky and undefeated.

"I happen to have Nienna with me right now," continued Sauron.

"I thought you said she was cowering in a torture chamber somewhere where I would never find her," said Tulkas, in a burst of near-genius.

"I lied," said Sauron. "Nienna has a few things she would like to say to you."

Nienna came over to his side. She looked terrible, very scared and upset, but mercifully unhurt. "Fly, Tulkas!" she cried. "Leave now, while you can! If you don't, my brothers and I will suffer greatly! Leave! Leave!"

"Er..." said Tulkas.

"Hurry, you idiot!" screamed Nienna. "Melkor is more powerful than ever before! He will destroy you if you try to fight him all alone!"

"I'll be back, Nienna!" said Tulkas. "I'll bring the other Valar to save you!"

"This is very touching," said Sauron. "Just get out of here."

Tulkas strode away, continuing to look determined.

Sauron took a deep breath, and let it out shakily. Then he clapped his hands, and the Nienna-illusion vanished.

* * *

Lúthien tiptoed through the halls of Barad-dûr. There were orcs, evil men, and other indistinguishable minions everywhere. There were also a lot of bats. 

Lúthien could not believe that she showed up at such a bad time. Was she cursed? She needed to find a good hiding place, and quickly, before Morgoth clapped his eyes on her.

A spider scuttled across her path, and Lúthien pulled back with a whimper. She hated spiders, especially if they were the size of large cats.

"Lúthien?" asked the spider.

And _most _especially, she hated them if they talked.

"I'm Elfdeath," hissed the spider. "Sauron sent me to find you a good hiding place."

"He did?" asked Lúthien suspiciously. She thought it would probably be a mistake to trust a spider known as 'Elfdeath'.

The spider bobbed up and down, which was evidently its version of nodding. "He said to tell you that, though he still hates you, he had fun filling Taur-nu-Fuin with horror, so he might as well help you once, to thank you for directing him there."

Lúthien thought that this sounded like something Sauron would say. It was hard to tell whether it was a threat, or merely a little bitter sarcasm. "All right. I'll come with you," she said. But she picked a large metal pipe off the ground, just in case.

Elfdeath trotted briskly down the hall, peering into nooks and crannies. She had just finished directing the MoS to a good hiding place, and was feeling rather proud of herself.

"Do you mind telling me," asked Lúthien carefully, "what exactly is going on?"

"Melkor has returned," hissed Elfdeath. "But Master will defeat him."

Lúthien snorted. "Really? How?"

"He can do anything," replied Elfdeath with great conviction.

* * *

Sauron had acquired a limp and a bad headache. It was making his job yet more difficult. As he limped down the disgustingly filthy halls of Barad-dûr, he wished that he had made the whole place a lot smaller. It would have saved so much time: both in construction, and in daily perambulation. 

Sauron was considering this when an ethereal form came loping down the hall towards him. It was Fëanor.

"Maedhros is here!" cried Fëanor. "He's coming!"

"What can he do to you?" asked Sauron. "You're dead."

"I'd rather avoid him, that's all," said Fëanor.

A red-headed Elf emerged from a room and came stalking towards them. He looked very threatening, and very real and solid. He had a sword in one hand, and a knife in the other, which added greatly to the 'threatening' part.

"I have seen Maedhros before," said Sauron. "That Elf is not Maedhros."

"Oh, yes it is," said Fëanor. "No doubt about it. I tore his new body in two accidentally, so he took Amrod's. Or Amras's. It doesn't really matter."

The eyes, which belonged to either Amrod or Amras, narrowed at the sight of Sauron. The mouth belonging to either Amrod or Amras formed a sinister smile that distinctly resembled Fëanor's.

"Are you sure it is Mae–" Sauron started to ask.

"Well, look who it is," drawled the Elf. "It's Morgoth's pet Maia, the one who comes up with such brilliant ideas."

"Oh," said Sauron softly. "It _is _Maedhros."

"I am sure you were well rewarded," continued Maedhros, still smiling the sinister smile. "Morgoth must have loved the thought of chaining a prisoner to a precipice by one hand."

"Yes, He was very pleased," said Sauron. "Did you enjoy the view?"

"The view of what? Ash? Dead grass? Unbounded devastation?" demanded Maedhros.

"_I _enjoy that kind of view," muttered Sauron.

"Maedhros," said Fëanor, "was it Sauron who suggested doing that to you?"

"Oh, yes," said Maedhros.

Fëanor looked at Sauron with a peculiar expression on his face, and Maedhros continued, speaking to his father in almost conversational tones. "It was quite a clever idea. There was only one problem with it."

They were all well aware of the problem with the clever idea. Sauron scowled at the two Elves, put on the defensive for once. Sometimes wonderful schemes backfire, with unforeseen and unpleasant consequences.

"The problem," said Maedhros slowly, "is that there is always a chance that someone will come along on an eagle and simply cut the hand off."

"Don't worry about the hand," replied Sauron. "I kept it as a souvenir."

Being immaterial, Fëanor did not actually have to step out of their way, but he did so nevertheless. Sauron had looked wan and tired, but he shifted into werewolf shape with startling speed, and was on top of Maedhros in an instant, pinning him to the floor. Maedhros, however, was not easy prey. He had two hands again. He had a sword (now nearly useless, in such a close conflict) and a knife.

Violence ensued.

Then Lúthien was in their midst (or a meter away from their midst), Elfdeath hissing and creaking along behind her. "What are you doing?" Tinúviel shrieked, waving her metal pipe around. "We have to fight Morgoth, not each other!"

Sauron took a new form: the body of a vampire, because vampires are always intimidating. He let his sharp teeth brush the neck that belonged to either Amrod or Amras, and Maedhros went still and tense at the touch. For a brief moment, no one breathed, though Fëanor hadn't been breathing much anyway.

"You are right, Lúthien," Sauron said. He stood up stiffly, and Maedhros followed his example, hardly cowed. The Elf glared at all of them.

"I know we do not like each other," said Lúthien, "but we really must defeat Morgoth."

"And we should work together," said Fëanor, reluctantly.

"It is not just a matter of disliking each other," said Maedhros. "Even if I do not like Lúthien and am angry at my father, I know that they have good motivation for wanting Morgoth defeated. But I do not trust Sauron."

"Oh, that's predictable!" cried Sauron, flinging up his hands in disgust. "No one ever trusts me!"

"Except for Morgoth," said Lúthien. "Hmm... I wonder why."

"Because he's an idiot," said Sauron instantly, not thinking for once.

"Exactly," said Maedhros. "And in the same way, we would be idiots to trust you."

"All right," said Fëanor to the ex-Dark-Lord. "Give us two good reasons for why we should trust you, please."

"Why two good reasons?"

"Any liar can come up with one good reason," said Fëanor.

"Maybe we should make him come up with three good reasons," said Maedhros, "because I'm sure Sauron is a _very _good liar."

"Two reasons should be enough," said Lúthien. "Let's hear them."

"You will not believe me," said Sauron, "no matter what reasons I give you."

Maedhros smirked. "Try us."

"Sauron!" bellowed Morgoth from somewhere in Barad-dûr.

"Well, isn't that convenient," said Fëanor.

Sauron hissed, "If you think that being summoned by Melkor is ever convenient–"

"Sauron!" yelled Morgoth. "I'm counting to three! Come _here_!"

Sauron whirled around and limped rapidly down the hall, Elfdeath scampering after him.

**TBC...**


	34. Manwe Turns Luddite

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

'_None of the Eldalië ever hated Melkor more than Fëanor son of Finwë, who first named him Morgoth...'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Lúthien, Fëanor, and Maedhros looked at each other.

"Welcome to sunny Mordor," said Lúthien at last. She sat down on a grimy window ledge and hugged her arms to herself. She felt cold and sick. She missed Beren. Having adventures with Fëanor and his son just wasn't the same.

Maedhros tried to sit down on the same window ledge, and found that he could not come within a meter of Lúthien. He frowned in puzzlement.

Fëanor sat down on the floor. His legs were not tired, but sitting made a change of perspective.

"What should we do?" asked Lúthien.

"We should–" began Maedhros and Fëanor in unison, and they both paused to scowl at each other.

"I am your father," said Fëanor. "I should be in charge."

"I have had more experience with this sort of thing," said Maedhros. "I should be in charge."

Lúthien sighed.

Fëanor and Maedhros bickered for a few minutes. Then Maedhros asked Lúthien, "Can you still make your hair grow really long? With sleeping spells mixed in?"

"I cannot fool Morgoth in the same way twice," said Lúthien. "I was lucky enough the first time."

"I know!" said Fëanor. "Maedhros can sneak up on Morgoth and stab him to death, while Lúthien and I are distracting him!"

"Distracting him?" Lúthien asked, arching her eyebrows.

"Yes. Ghosts and beautiful women are very distracting," said Fëanor. "I can walk through walls, you know."

"Why don't you haunt Morgoth for a while, Fëanor?" asked Lúthien.

"Haunt him?"

Lúthien nodded. "Make him uneasy. Keep him awake at night. Then, when he is greatly fatigued, Maedhros can sneak up on him and stab him to death."

"Or you could distract him all by yourself, Lúthien," said Fëanor, "while Maedhros sneaks up and stabs him to death."

"Wait. Why am I always the one who has to stab him to death?" asked Maedhros.

"You don't want to kill him? I thought you would enjoy it," said Lúthien.

"Well, I would, of course, but why must _I _be the stabber?"

"Two reasons," said Lúthien. "Firstly, Fëanor cannot pick up a knife, let alone stab someone with it. Secondly, I cannot stab him, because I will not be able to come within an arm's length of him."

"You could throw a spear at him," suggested Maedhros.

"I couldn't, actually."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, pondering their problem.

"Perhaps Sauron could stab him to death?"

Maedhros and Fëanor gave Lúthien a questioning look. "I thought we had decided to leave Sauron out of this," said Maedhros.

"Why should we leave him out of this, if we can't do this without him?" asked Lúthien in a reasonable tone.

Fëanor shook his head. "I don't doubt that Sauron wants to get rid of Morgoth, but that doesn't mean that the world would be a better place with him in charge instead."

"True," said Lúthien.

"We could finish off Sauron after we had stabbed Morgoth," said Maedhros.

"How do we know that stabbing Morgoth will destroy him?" asked Fëanor. "He might stay alive."

"If Maedhros dies in his stabbing attempt, I could come in for the kill with my spear," joked Lúthien. She saw Maedhros's expression and cringed apologetically.

"But if we defeat Morgoth, then Sauron will just take over," said Maedhros. "We need to defeat them both at the same time."

"Then we can ask Sauron to stab Morgoth to death. He will fail, and Morgoth will kill him instead," said Fëanor. "Then Maedhros can sneak up and stab Morgoth to death while he's choking Sauron, or whatever he likes to do to people who try to stab him. Sauron will be half-throttled, and unable to defend himself properly, so Maedhros can kill him next."

"You know, if it were really this simple to kill Morgoth, I'm sure the world would not have been under his sway for thousands of years," remarked Maedhros.

"I am sure no one ever thought of a plan so startling in its simplicity," said Lúthien.

Fëanor waved a ghostly hand modestly. "You need say no more."

"I think I should say one thing more," said Lúthien, " just to remind you. Not only can Sauron make illusions, change shape, and sound wise and reliable when he's lying his head off, but he can also sing."

"Sing?"

"That's how he defeated Finrod and my dear husband."

"Is there anything he cannot do?" asked Maedhros.

"There is one thing he cannot do," said Lúthien, "and that is stab Morgoth to death. Because if he could, I am sure Morgoth would be destroyed by now. The Valar are the only ones who can defeat Morgoth. We cannot."

"We can try," said Fëanor.

* * *

Manwë and Varda sat on the steps outside their home, listening to Vairë as she gabbled out her bad news. Eventually she had to pause so that she could breathe, and Manwë interjected the question, "So you think Morgoth is back?" 

"Yes," said Vairë in a strangled tone.

Manwë thought for a moment. Clichéd phrases came to mind, such as 'this is not good'.

"I can check," Varda volunteered. "I can go to the Void again, and see if he is missing."

"But he _is _missing!" cried Vairë, still sounding strangled. Taniquetil was a high mountain; there wasn't a lot of oxygen readily available for inhalation. "I tell you, he just appeared in Middle-earth! He's taking over it!"

"But some of him might still be in the Void," said Varda. "I have a theory that he is capable of putting pieces of himself in several places at once."

Vairë blinked. "Oh," she said.

"That is a good idea," Manwë said to his wife. "Do you mind looking for him?"

"No," said Varda. She stood up and hurried away, looking very businesslike.

Manwë asked, "Did you say that you could not undo your weaving, Vairë?"

"Yes," said Vairë.

Manwë pondered this some more. Distinctly unpleasant possibilities crowded his thoughts. He said, "I'm sorry, Vairë. I think I have failed you."

"Failed me?" echoed Vairë, worried.

Manwë stood up and set off down the mountain at a brisk jog. Vairë rushed after him. "Failed me?" she asked again.

"I hope I'm right about this," muttered Manwë. "I really hope I'm right."

They ran some more. They ran all the way to Aulë's forge, where Manwë asked Aulë if he could borrow his largest hammer. Vairë grew more worried.

Manwë lugged the hammer to Vairë's hall of weaving, walked purposefully across the room, lifted the hammer above his head with an effort, and then brought it crashing down on top of the loom.It creaked and shuddered.

"What are you doing?" screamed Vairë.

Manwë bashed the loom again. One of its legs popped off and skittered across the floor. Vairë kept on screaming. Manwë was terrified that he might have leaped to the wrong conclusion, but he had a feeling that he was right. He hoped he was right. If he wasn't, Vairë would probably try to kill him.

He slammed the hammer down again and again. He bashed the loom until it lay on the floor in a mangled, twisted heap, with pieces of thread tangled around its shattered remains. Vairë finally stopped screaming. She looked rather shattered as well.

"What have you done?" she whispered.

Manwë was beginning to think he had been wrong when he saw a very small, very sneaky shadow trying to creep around the framework of the decimated loom. He reached down and grabbed it.

"Um, what is happening?" asked Vairë.

"I thought that Morgoth was in your mind," said Manwë, "but he wasn't. He was in your loom. He's been controlling things from there; probably messing up historical events when you weren't looking."

"My loom...?"

"Now that I've smashed it, history in Middle-earth will come to a halt. Morgoth will be weakened now that I have a piece of him. He will be easily destroyed," said Manwë encouragingly.

"That's... good," said Vairë. She looked at her loom and sniffled.

"I'll have Aulë make you a new one as soon as possible," said Manwë. "I'm so sorry it had to be decimated."

"That's... all right," said Vairë, and burst into tears.

Manwë held on tightly to the wriggling shadowy form. "I'll just go put this bit of Morgoth back in the Void," he said awkwardly, and hurried away, wishing his line of work didn't force him to be so destructive.

* * *

When Varda encountered Eärendil again, he had regressed to whistling the Anthem of Gondolin backwards, having mastered the Anthem of Sirion. At first Varda did not recognize the cacophony that issued from his lips, but eventually he stopped trying to whistle and told her what he was doing. Varda nodded wisely and said nothing, except that she would like him to take her to the Door of Night again, please. 

"Certainly, Lady Elbereth," said Eärendil obligingly.

It did not take long before they had reached the Door. Varda unlocked it, slipped through the Walls of the World, and found herself standing in the blackness of the Void. She produced a star from her pocket, and waved it around, searching for signs of Melkor.

"Morgoth!" she yelled. "Are you here?"

There was nothing but silence. The Void was very... empty, actually living up to its name for once.

Overcome with annoyance, Varda murmured a mild, Valarly swearword. "I suppose all of him must be in Middle-earth then," she said. She flung her star forcefully into the emptiness, and watched, with slight satisfaction, as it exploded into a million pieces.

* * *

Morgoth rather resembles the genus of weed known as the dandelion. He is hard to eradicate. He sprouts up where he is least expected. Unlike dandelions, he is not yellow and cheerful. Unlike dandelions, he does not make the world a better place. But in other ways, he is very like them. 

Despite Manwë's optimism, history in Middle-earth continued. Of course.

Sitting at her computer, Luthy wished that she had not studied the languages of Middle-earth quite so intensively. At that moment, Morgoth was using a lot of the less savory words to express his anger and frustration, and she wished she couldn't understand them.

"Um, what's happening?" asked Luthy eventually.

**_Nothing_ **replied Morgoth.

Unconvinced, Luthy tapped her fingers on her desk. "Anything else you want me to write," she asked, "or can I get up now?"

**_You aren't having fun? _**asked Morgoth. She thought he seemed genuinely surprised. **_You aren't enjoying killing all who oppose me? You aren't enjoying taking my upstart Maia down a peg or two? Don't you enjoy being POWERFUL? _**

Luthy thought. "Actually..." she said at last, "Actually, I do rather enjoy this..."

**_XD_** replied Morgoth.

**TBC...**


	35. Make Tea, Not War

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings _and_The Silmarillion_. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reading/reviewing! A belated Happy Mother's Day to any mothers in the audience. :) (Though it's actually a coincidence that Nerdanel is in this chapter.)

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

'_And much of the strength and will of Sauron passed into the One Ring; for the power of the Elven-ring was very great, and that which should govern them must be a thing of surpassing potency; and Sauron forged it in the Mountain of Fire in the Land of Shadow.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

The seven sons of Fëanor were also the seven sons of Nerdanel, though none of them really took after her. Fëanor liked to make silmarils, and then kill people who took them and ran away. Nerdanel liked to paint.

Though none of his sons actually _enjoyed _killing people, or at least admitted they enjoyed it, they were generally quite good at killing people, and none of them had the least interest in painting. Nerdanel found most of them rather disappointing.

After Fëanor had callously suggested the thievery of more Teleri ships, and Nerdanel had lost her temper and yelled at him, and after they had stolen a surprised eagle and sent it off to Middle-earth, Fëanor clinging to its back, Nerdanel went home and made tea. Her maternal instincts caused her to suspect that her sons would soon show up on her doorstep, feeling sorry for themselves and hoping for something to eat.

It was not long before she heard a tentative rap on the door.

"Maglor," she said, easily identifying him.

Her next son with access to the door pounded on it dreadfully.

"Caranthir," she said.

"Mother, are you there?" called someone plaintively.

"Curufin," she said.

"Don't leave us out here to die!"

"Amrod," said Nerdanel. "Or Amras." She took pity on them, walked to the door, and opened it. Five anxious faces met her gaze.

"Hello, Mother!" said Celegorm. "We're back!"

"So I see," said Nerdanel coolly. "I expect you want something to eat."

"Oh, yes, please!" they chorused.

"I hope you have wiped your feet on the doormat," said Nerdanel. "Vairë wove it specially for me."

"It's very nice," said Maglor.

Nerdanel was pleased that one of her sons recognized art when he saw it. "Where are Maedhros and Amras?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Maedhros went to Middle-earth, I think," said Curufin.

"And he took my body!" said Amrod.

Nerdanel looked at Amrod again. "Which one _are _you?" she asked. She did not usually get the twins confused with each other, but Amrod/Amras's strange behavior was beginning to make her wonder.

"Both," said Amrod and Amras. "We both had to squeeze inside my poor/one lousy body, since Maedhros took Amras's/mine."

"It's terribly annoying," said Caranthir blandly. "Can we come in?"

They came in. Nerdanel fetched them a tray of scones and a large teapot full of blackcurrant tea. She set these treats down on the table, and watched her sons sprawl around her living room as if they had never left home.

"So," said Nerdanel eventually, after the scones had disappeared and the tea had been inhaled. "How did you get out of the Halls? Not through legal means, I assume."

"You assume correctly," said Caranthir, licking jam from his fingers. "But we invested a lot of effort in escaping, and everyone knows that if you work hard for something, you deserve to have it."

Nerdanel gave him an annoyed look. "As always, your logic is rather twisted, Caranthir."

"Life is twisted," said Curufin, "so naturally Caranthir's logic must be twisted to fit it."

"I think you deserved what happened to you," said Nerdanel, ignoring him.

"You have no idea how much we suffered in there!" cried Amrod or Amras, or perhaps both of them together.

Nerdanel wasn't the most forgiving of Elves, but that might have been because she had enjoyed the peace and quiet afforded by the absence of her sons. It had given her plenty of time to paint.

"What are you planning to do now?" she asked. "Tulkas will soon realize that you are gone, and he will come after you."

"You are giving him entirely too much credit, Mother," said Caranthir.

"Tulkas has little capacity for rational thought," said Celegorm, "and he is very disorganized. He will never notice that we are no longer with him."

"You seem very comfortable with that assumption," said Nerdanel, "but you should leave nothing to chance."

"True," said Maglor. "I think the seven of us have learned that much at least in the past years."

"I should hope so," said Nerdanel.

"Could we stay... with you... perhaps?" asked Maglor.

"Oh, _now _you want to stay with me," said Nerdanel. "I remember a time when you were very quick to skip off to Middle-earth with your father. Decided to rally around your mother for a change?"

"We have rethought our previous plan of action," said Celegorm. "We have realized that it doesn't always pay off."

"We would like to live here, with you, in peace and safety," said Curufin, so large-eyed and serious that Nerdanel was immediately suspicious of his motives.

Suddenly she smiled brightly. Curufin winced. "You can stay with me if you like," she said, "but don't think I'll just let you lie about."

Her sons shifted uneasily.

"You have several thousand years of chores to do for me," said Nerdanel.

* * *

Luthy was very slightly worried, because her fanfic was suddenly writing itself. She was not sure if she could even call it 'her fanfic' at this point. Having Morgoth as a muse made the writing process somewhat... different.

Perhaps Morgoth was taking over more completely than she had expected, or perhaps she had simply found her niche, one that beat flaming any day. She would write fanfics, not about Fëanor, but about all of the _real _villains in _The Silmarillion_, all the ones who unabashedly made it their mission to conquer Middle-earth, not to just retrieve some dumb silmarils.

Or perhaps she would write about Morgoth and Morgoth alone, because he was undoubtedly the most fascinating villain in all the history of Middle-earth.

It was a pity he was so annoying.

**_Morgoth surveyed his new realm _**dictated Morgoth. Luthy briskly typed out the sentence. **_Mordor was black and withered and barren, but the all-powerful Dark Lord was proud to call it home. Actually, scratch that. Delete that whole sentence. What are you doing, you lunatic girl? I don't want you to type this part. Stop! Stop! _**

"Oh," said Luthy, who had been mechanically typing everything Morgoth put before her, including his frantic appeal for her to delete his sentence about Mordor. She yawned. "I've been typing for nearly an hour," she said. "I'm getting tired."

**_Tired? How dare you be tired in my presence? _**snarled Morgoth.

Luthy was used to yelling at her computer, and she was delighted at this opportunity to do what she did so well. "How dare you gripe at me?" she shouted. "I've been typing out your stupid story, haven't I?"

_**I'll kill your computer! **_

"If my computer dies, how will your story continue?" asked Luthy. She leaned back in her chair and smugly examined her fingernails.

Luthy did not know it, but a few minutes ago, Morgoth's story would have proceeded perfectly well without her and her computer. He had been careful. He had been controlling the history of Middle-earth from both Earth _and _Valinor. At least, he had been doing so for some time, until his brother had caught him. His options had suddenly become rather limited.

**_Perhaps we should talk_** Morgoth suggested.

"Perhaps we should," said Luthy. "Perhaps we should get to know each other."

There was a silence. Luthy stared at her computer screen. Somewhere in there, was Morgoth staring back? It was a disturbing thought. "What is your favorite color?" she asked suddenly.

_**Yellow. **_

Luthy gaped at the monitor in incredulity. "Yellow?"

**_No_** Morgoth replied. **_Of course not. What Dark Lord would like a color that wasn't DARK? ...Is it my turn to ask a question? _**

"Yes," said Luthy.

_**Who do you like more: me or Manwë?**_

Luthy rolled her eyes. "I like Manwë as much as you like the color yellow. What made you trun to the Dark Side?"

_**My vaulting ambition. Who do you like more: me or Fëanor? **_

This was rather a hard question. Luthy pondered it briefly, and said, "You. Everyone likes Fëanor, after all, even if they won't admit it to themselves. What is your preferred breakfast food?"

_**The first minion to get in my way. Who do you like more: me or Sauron? **_

"You," said Luthy. "Sauron isn't half so powerful as you, especially now that he doesn't have his precious Ring."

**_His Ring? What Ring? _**asked Morgoth.

"I suppose you missed all the Ring drama," said Luthy, sighing. "Sauron forged a ring while you were gone. He put most of his power into the Ring, and then he went and got his Ring stolen during the Last Alliance. The man who stole it, Isildur, proceeded to lose both it and his life soon after, and ever since, Sauron has been looking for it so that he can recover all his strength and take over Middle-earth."

_**How do you know this? **_

"I have a book," said Luthy carelessly. "I know the whole story. I know how everything will turn out."

_**Does Sauron find his Ring? **_

"No," said Luthy. "A halfling gets it and tosses it into Orodruin, which is exactly not what Sauron is expecting. Sauron is defeated, and everyone is happy, except his minions, who are dead."

_**What is Sauron expecting? **_

"He was expecting someone to try and claim his Ring so that they could destroy him," said Luthy. "But it didn't work that way. They realized they weren't strong enough to wield it, and got rid of it instead."

_**But anyone could use the Ring? If he were strong enough?**_

"And if he found it," said Luthy. "It's hidden."

**_But you know where it is _**said Morgoth.

"Yes, I do," replied Luthy, and she polished her fingernails absently on her sweater.

_**Tell me more, please.**_

**TBC...**


	36. The Devil You Know

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! It means a lot to me!

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

'_...But Ungoliant belched forth black vapours as she drank, and swelled to a shape so vast and hideous that Melkor was afraid.' _

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Varda and Manwë met each other in the star-port. Varda was thankfully disembarking and fleeing Eärendil's ship, and Manwë was waiting to get on it. Varda halted in mid-flight, growing worried as she took note of the haunted look in her husband's eyes.

"Manwë?" she asked. "Is something wrong? Why are you holding a birdcage?"

"I smashed Vairë's loom," Manwë confessed. He stared miserably at the birdcage, which was small and black and battered.

"You _what_?"

Manwë gave Varda a panicky look, and she calmed herself. "You smashed Vairë's loom? Why?"

"So that I could pry Morgoth out of it," said Manwë. "He was inside it, messing with the history of Middle-earth that way."

"How very sneaky of him," said Varda. "I suppose he's the shadowy thing in the birdcage?"

Manwë nodded. He looked traumatized. Varda could only imagine the state Vairë was in, if the simple act of loom-smashing had done this to _Manwë_.

"You are going to put him back in the Void?" she asked.

Manwë nodded. "And then I will go to Middle-earth. Most of Morgoth is there, in Mordor, causing all sorts of trouble. I must stop him."

"Oh, _do_ take care," said Varda. "I know that Morgoth has such a way of making you feel sorry for him. He's shamelessly manipulative, remember that."

Manwë promised her he would remember it.

"And," said Varda, lowering her voice and leaning forward conspiratorially, "don't encourage Eärendil to whistle any anthems for you. It's awful. Such a horrendous experience would only serve to shatter your somewhat fragile nerves."

"I'll remember that too," said Manwë, smiling. He kissed Varda goodbye, and hurried aboard Eärendil's ship.

"Good luck," murmured Varda.

* * *

Sauron and Elfdeath came before Morgoth in fear and trembling. 

The entire room had been transformed. Sauron's throne had been made much bigger, so that Morgoth could fit into it. Candles were burning here and there, casting ominous, flickering shadows. The room was filled with Morgoth's new minions, and the last of Sauron's most loyal servants were dying painfully in a corner.

"What is that?" brayed Morgoth, pointing at Elfdeath.

"That? I think it's an arachnid of some sort, Master," said Sauron vaguely.

"It's a spider!" said Morgoth. "I hate spiders!"

Elfdeath scuttled from the room, squeaking in terror. Morgoth nodded, and a few of the minions went dashing after her, waving their weapons in vicious anticipation.

Morgoth said, very clearly and distinctly, "No. More. Pet. Spiders."

"Yes, Master."

"Now, why did it take so long for you to come?"

"You nearly crippled me with a chair, Master."

"Oh, yes." Morgoth had forgotten about the chair, especially in light of recent revelations. "I have been hearing fascinating things from your most loyal servants," he said.

In its corner, the last loyal servant died painfully. Sauron did not even glance in its direction.

"Master?"

"They told me all about a certain... Ring of Power," said Morgoth with a meaningful pause.

Sauron almost looked startled. "A Ring of Power?" he echoed blankly.

"Please get that innocent, confused expression off your face. It makes you look like a goldfish," said Morgoth abrasively. "Yes. The Ring of Power."

"I do not–"

"Oh, yes, you do."

"Oh, no, I don't."

"Yes, you do, Sauron," said Melkor, very, very firmly.

"I, Master?" There was no hope for Sauron but to look innocent and confused again. And loyal. Very loyal.

"To the best of my knowledge, you are the only one in this room named Sauron," said Morgoth.

"You are all knowing, Master," murmured Sauron, hoping he was not.

"You enjoy the taste of power far much more than is healthy," said the Vala. He chuckled. "When the Ring is mine, I will possess all your unique gifts and talents, and I shall no longer need your direct service. It is a perfect arrangement."

Sauron hoped that Mandos, Lórien, and Nienna would be good at hiding from the various evil forces Morgoth would send after them.

"Now," said Morgoth, "perhaps I should pay my three prisoners a little visit." The Dark Lord stood up, and crossed the shabby, bloodstained red carpet in a few paces. He stared down at Sauron, and Sauron, glancing up, looked him in the eyes for the very first time.

"But first I'll deal with you," Morgoth said.

* * *

"Wake up, Lúthien," said Fëanor, prodding her ineffectually. He could come nearer to her than Maedhros could, but he still could not touch her. His ghostly hand passed through her perfect shoulder, instead of grasping and shaking it. 

Lúthien opened her eyes blearily. "What?" she asked. "Ai, Fëanor, stop bobbing about. You are going to give me a headache."

It was the next morning. Maedhros and Lúthien had been sleeping fitfully in a large storage closet, exactly a meter apart, amid piles of disgusting, blood-encrusted weaponry. Fëanor, however, had been exploring Barad-dûr. No one was well rested, and no one was in a good mood.

Fëanor's mood was the best. He had discovered that he could fly. Having no actual weight, he had been walking on the floor merely out of habit. Fëanor flitted about, bouncing off the walls, turning somersaults, and performing other wondrous feats. Maedhros and Lúthien glared up at him.

"Guess what I found out!" said Fëanor, pretending to alight on the ground in an effort to appease the living. In reality, he was hovering slightly.

"I have no idea what you found out," said Maedhros.

"Morgoth has captured Mandos, Nienna, and Lórien!" said Fëanor. "He has been clobbering them all night!"

Maedhros rubbed his eyes. "Are you upset by this, Father, or just really thrilled?" he asked. "It's hard to tell."

"I'm upset," said Fëanor. "I think. I'm not sure."

"Nienna was my friend," said Lúthien. She looked horrified. As was the way with Lúthien, she also looked beautiful and endearing and lovable.

"Nienna may have been your friend, but Mandos was our jailer," said Maedhros.

"We should save them!" said Lúthien. "Perhaps they can help us."

"If we have to save them," said Fëanor, "then I doubt they could really help us. If they escape, then Morgoth will search everywhere for them, and we would all be caught. We cannot risk that."

Lúthien bit her perfect lip, considering.

"What about Sauron? What is he doing?" asked Maedhros.

"I do not know what he is doing," said Fëanor. "I could not find him."

"That's worrisome," said Maedhros. "He could be planning all sorts of evil. We cannot leave him to his own devices."

Lúthien and Fëanor nodded their agreement.

"I shall go and look for him, then," said Fëanor, and floated away.

* * *

The MoS was sitting in a large cabinet in the kitchen of Barad-dûr, drinking a vile concoction of dubious origins and eating a tomato. He had found a large vine in the garden outside the kitchen, and had picked an extravagant amount of the fruit. It was good. Nice and juicy. It left sinister red stains around his mouth. He munched it contentedly, and pondered the new turn of events. 

There are things that money can't buy. Loyalty is not one of these things.

However, Sauron was at heart a stingy individual, which was why disguising himself as kindly, gift-giving Annatar had been such a masterpiece in irony. Sauron was not fond of giving his minions any kind of monetary reward, not when he could simply scare them into serving him wholeheartedly. He had assumed that there was no chance of someone scarier showing up in Middle-earth and stealing his minions.

It had been a bad mistake on his part. The MoS was not sure he wanted to serve a lord who made such mistakes.

At the same time, the MoS did not want to risk changing sides. After all, anything Sauron perceived to be treachery on his part could be fatal. Of course, if Morgoth discovered the MoS, he would probably kill him out of hand, not fearing any particular threat, but being careful anyway.

The MoS hated dilemmas. He was happiest when someone was telling him what to do and what to say. It was one thing to serve a Maia, but it was another thing to be dealing with Valar! The MoS was only human, even if he was a very long-lived human, and the thought of serving a god so directly terrified him.

That was another problem. Sauron had been so very eager to advocate the worship of Morgoth back in Númenor, but as soon as Morgoth had showed up in Mordor, Sauron had started threatening the MoS with a violent, painful fate the instant he 'switched sides'.

Clearly Sauron and Morgoth were not on the same side. Did Sauron have the slightest chance of defeating a god?

Of course not.

The MoS was torn.

Before the MoS could determine the course of action that would be least hazardous to himself, the cabinet door began to slowly swing open.

The MoS found himself staring into the many eyes of Elfdeath.

"Quick, quick, Mouth!" cried Elfdeath. "Master is in trouble! You must help him!"

"In trouble?" asked the MoS nervously. He hoped, for one brief moment, that perhaps Sauron was dead.

"Morgoth has decided he doesn't need Master any more," squeaked Elfdeath, nearly overcome with emotion. "He will kill him!"

The MoS let out a soft sigh of relief. "That would solve our problems," he said.

"What?" Elfdeath's mouth dropped open. She had, the MoS noted, two long fangs, all the better for sucking blood from her unfortunate victims.

The MoS did not bother to explain. "Go away, Elfdeath," he said. "I need to think."

"You're a minion!" screeched Elfdeath. "You aren't _supposed _to think! You are supposed to aid your lord!"

"Have you considered our fate if Morgoth wins this war, and we are on the wrong side?" asked the MoS. "We all have to take care of ourselves. We must be selfish, because those we serve are selfish. If my lord could save himself by sacrificing me, he would do so without a second thought. I would like to survive, so I must let my lord cope on his own. I must save myself."

"Morgoth does not like spiders," said Elfdeath sadly. "He never has."

"Too bad," said the MoS.

"I'll tell my master you betrayed him!" said Elfdeath, hopping backwards and glaring at the man.

"You won't!" snarled the MoS, scrambling out of his cabinet. "I'll squish you first."

Elfdeath skittered back further, still glaring. "If you want to save yourself, Mouth, you had better help Master. He is not forgiving. If you do not save him from Morgoth, he will find some way to destroy you."

The MoS had an uncomfortable feeling that this was true.

"He might reward you for saving his life," said Elfdeath.

The MoS snorted.

"Well, he _might_," retorted Elfdeath defensively.

"He might," said the MoS. "And perhaps the sun will turn blue and come crashing from the sky. That would surprise us all, wouldn't it?"

Elfdeath huffed. "He might reward you by letting you live," she said. "Follow me."

**TBC...**


	37. Maia with a Thousand Plans

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN**

'_He entered the service of the Dark Tower when it first rose again, and because of his cunning he grew ever higher in the Lord's favour; and he learned great sorcery, and knew much of the mind of Sauron; and he was more cruel than any orc.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Return of the King'_

"This loom was my pride and joy," said Vairë, sadly staring at its remains. "It will take years to repair."

Varda patted her on the back sympathetically. "Time will have stopped in Middle-earth," she said, "so they won't notice if it takes years."

Vairë picked up some pieces of thread. She began twisting them together and looping them between her fingers.

"What are you doing?" asked Varda.

"I'm checking something." Vairë frowned in concentration, and finally said, "I'm sorry, Varda, but time hasn't stopped in Middle-earth."

"It hasn't?"

Vairë shook her head, flinging the thread on the floor and crying out in exasperation, "Manwë destroyed my loom for nothing! He hasn't fixed the problem! He's just caused more of a mess, curse him!"

"He was planning to go to Middle-earth to get rid of Morgoth."

"Not a good idea. Morgoth is getting stronger every moment," said Vairë, picking up the threads again and arranging them in the palm of her hand. "He could probably tie Manwë in knots at this point. Not," she added grimly, "that I would mind."

"What has happened?" asked Varda. "It should have worked, shouldn't it?"

"Some outside source is controlling history now," said Vairë. "And I would guess, from the direction history is going, that the outside source is Morgoth."

Varda took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I need to tell Manwë," she said, "that instead of going to Middle-earth, he should search one of the Otherworlds, looking for Morgoth there."

"It could take a long time," said Vairë.

"Mandos and his siblings visited the Otherworlds. They may have the answer," said Varda.

"True," said Vairë. "Fortunately, I know a quick way to ask him."

* * *

Elfdeath scampered through Barad-dûr with great rapidity and grace, bounding over obstacles and fairly flying around corners in her haste to find Sauron. The MoS was less rapid and graceful in his pursuit of her. He looked pained, and was making funny noises.

"Hurry, hurry!" cried Elfdeath, galloping madly.

"I'm sure my lord can wait for just a few more minutes," wheezed the MoS.

Elfdeath came to a halt. If she had been a dog, she would have been looking over her shoulder, one paw in the air, tail wagging, tongue hanging out in the friendly fashion of all great canines. Being a spider, and not in a particularly friendly mood, she was unable to do this. She sort of bounced up and down.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Dying, I think," said the MoS, bent double and trying to catch his breath.

"Don't die yet," said Elfdeath. "You can die after you save Master."

"Your pathetic loyalty is beginning to be very exasperating," growled the MoS, though the sinister impact of his words was somewhat diminished by the way he gasped them out. "Anyway, it's not fair. You have eight legs, and I have only two."

"Yours are longer," said Elfdeath. She grew bored, and started scampering again. The MoS followed her reluctantly.

"I sense orcs ahead!" said Elfdeath after a few moments.

The MoS did not doubt her, for he could the sound of bellowing growing closer. Orcs are always lacking in subtlety.

Generally, the MoS was skilled at scaring orcs, but with Morgoth somewhere in the building, he felt that popping out and dismembering a few would do him no good.

"We should be quiet," hissed Elfdeath piercingly.

"I _am _being quiet," the MoS hissed back, just as piercingly. "_You _be quiet."

"Fine," muttered Elfdeath. "Fend for yourself." She climbed briskly up the wall, and was soon lost in the shadows.

* * *

Fëanor found Sauron after a few hours of gliding to and fro. The Maia was sitting on the ground beside Morgoth's huge iron throne, his eyes shut. Fëanor had not entered the throne room before, because it had been full of men and orcs. Since it was morning, and a new day had dawned, the orcs and men had crawled to shadowy places where the sun could not touch them, leaving Sauron to think in peace and quiet at last.

"Sauron?" whispered Fëanor. He did not know why he was whispering. In this vast room, it felt like the right thing to do.

Sauron stirred, and opened his eyes. "Oh, it's you," he said, blinking up at the fëa. "This really is taking necromancy to another level, you know. I did not even have to do anything to summon you."

"Necromancy," said Fëanor huffily, "is bad."

Sauron gave him a weak grin. "Oh, tsk. You only say that because I am good at it."

"You are only good at it because it's bad!" said Fëanor.

"Bad people can be good at good things," said Sauron. "Just like good people can be good at bad things."

"Or good people can be bad at bad things," said Fëanor. "Or bad people can be bad at good things."

"Or bad people can be good at bad things," said Sauron, " and good people can be bad at good things."

"Of course, bad people can be bad at bad things, and good people can be good at good things," finished Fëanor.

They stared at each other blankly for a moment, having run out of combinations of good or bad people and things. They were both surprised that they had been having a civil conversation for so long, even if most of the civil conversation had been gibberish.

"So," said Sauron, "I'm good at necromancy. Which is, of course, why I am sometimes known as 'The Necromancer'."

"I thought that your 'necromancy skills' were just another myth that you liked to perpetuate," said Fëanor.

"Actually, no," said Sauron. "If I'm not allowed to talk to the spirits of the dead, then I suppose I had better ignore you," he concluded, closing his eyes again.

Fëanor hated being ignored. "Are you coming up with evil plans?" he asked.

"Would I tell you if I were?" asked Sauron. "Would you believe me if I weren't?"

"Probably not. I thought I'd ask," said Fëanor, regretting it.

"You will be glad to know that I am not coming up with evil plans," Sauron said. "I am busy holding my illusions together."

"Your illusions?"

Sauron nodded. "I let the Valar escape, and I made illusions of them to take their place. Even as we speak, my Master is torturing empty air. I hope He's having fun." Sauron closed his eyes again. "Let me concentrate. If Melkor finds out what I'm doing, my life isn't worth two figs."

"Oh."

They were both silent for a few minutes.

"Melkor hates figs," said Sauron.

"Oh," said Fëanor again.

They were silent for a few more minutes. Then Sauron opened his eyes once more. "He is finished," he said.

"Did he kill them?" asked Fëanor.

"He can't, because they aren't there," said Sauron. "Anyway, He thinks that if He completely destroys their bodies, they will be able to escape Him and return to Valinor."

"You could just be lying," said Fëanor. "He might have been torturing the real Valar."

"Of course," said Sauron.

"Is he coming back now?" asked Fëanor.

"No. He is going to inspect the troops," said Sauron, slumping against one leg of the great throne in exhaustion. "I have two good reasons for you now," he said after a moment.

"Two good reasons?" asked Fëanor blankly, before he remembered their earlier conversation.

"Yes. Two good reasons. That and that," said Sauron, pointing at one leg and then the other.

"What and what?" asked Fëanor.

"My legs. Both broken," said Sauron.

"How?" asked Fëanor.

"I would rather not go into the grisly details," said Sauron.

"Morgoth broke your legs? Why?"

"For fun, I think," said Sauron.

"That was... charming of him."

"Melkor does charming things like that now and then," said Sauron dryly.

"You seem very lucid for someone with two broken legs," said Fëanor.

"Oh?" asked Sauron. "Would you be more convinced if I were screaming in agony?"

"It would be more amusing to watch you if you were."

Sauron's yellow eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he said, "Fëanor, are you a good person good at bad things, or a good person bad at good things? Or are you a bad person? Are you as bad as I am?"

"I do not know whether I am a good person or a bad person," said Fëanor, "but I do know that you cannot judge me."

"Nor can you judge me," said Sauron. "So don't bother. But... consider this: You would like to stay in Middle-earth, wouldn't you? I can help you. I could make you a body. I'm good at that sort of thing. You and I served Aulë. We understand each other. If we defeat my Master together, then together we can reshape the world."

"You seem rather desperate for help," observed the fëa.

Sauron smiled. "I'm hardly desperate, Fëanor. I am making you a proposition, in a very calm, polite way. I have a thousand plans. I simply thought you might like to benefit from one of them."

Fëanor stopped hovering, coming a little closer to the Maia. "Why do you call him your master?"

"It's good for my life span," said Sauron. "At least, I used to think it was. I'm beginning to wonder."

"With Morgoth gone, neither of us would have to serve anyone," observed Fëanor.

"That is true," said Sauron. "Absolute power is the greatest freedom."

Fëanor was quiet for a few minutes. "Stop trying to corrupt me," he said at last.

"Why?" asked Sauron mildly. "Was I failing?"

"Yes," said Fëanor.

Sauron smirked. "Do you trust me?"

"Not really," said Fëanor. "Less than ever."

"Well, that's better than nothing," the Maia said. "There is a girl..."

"A girl?"

"A girl," said Sauron. "She is standing in front of Barad-dûr, wondering if she should come in and kill me or not."

"Fascinating," said Fëanor.

"Could you go and bring her to me?" asked Sauron.

"Why?" asked Fëanor. "If you want someone to put you out of your misery, I can fetch Maedhros instead. I'm sure he would love to impale you with something."

Sauron shook his head. "She has powers," he said.

"Powers," echoed Fëanor flatly. Then he said, "You think she will heal you, don't you?"

"That would be Plan A," said Sauron.

**TBC...**


	38. Fun on the Barrow Downs

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT**

'_Trembling he looked up, in time to see a tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars. It leaned over him. He thought there were two eyes, very cold though lit with a pale light that seemed to come from some remote distance. Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized him.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Fellowship of the Ring'_

Fëanor set out to look for Amanda-Lynn. The MoS fended for himself. Morgoth derived great pleasure from doing unpleasant things to the Valar-illusions. Sauron sat and plotted.

Somewhere in Earth, Luthy was typing frantically.

Somewhere in Valinor, Manwë was sailing towards the Void, birdcage in hand, Varda was sitting on her throne, reading a novel, the sons of Nerdanel were polishing silverware and scrubbing floors, and Vairë was burning soothing incense and trying to think peaceful thoughts.

In Imladris, Elrond was drinking tea, and Glorfindel and Erestor were in the process of severely inconveniencing each other.

In Mirkwood, Thranduil was writing a letter to Elrond, demanding to know where his son had gone, and in the Wild, Aragorn and Legolas were supposedly having an adventure.

They were at the part of the adventure in which they got unfairly clobbered by sadistic, psychopathic individuals, and at the part of the clobbering session in which Legolas exhibited his self-sacrifice by antagonizing the chief sadistic, psychopathic individual so that he would hurt Legolas and not Aragorn.

Aragorn was at the part of the adventure in which he was barely conscious, but still dimly grasped the fact that Legolas was being self-sacrificial.

Aragorn felt resentful. He felt that he never got a chance to be self-sacrificial. However, he was barely conscious, so he really could not do much to plan a self-sacrificial move. He could only lie on the ground and regret the fact that he and Legolas had gone on the so-called 'important mission' to the Barrow-downs. Everyone knew the Barrow-downs were an even more dangerous place than most of the rest of Middle-earth.

Suddenly, the heavy sound of flapping wings filled the air.

The sadistic, psychopathic individuals halted what they were doing, and glanced up, worried expressions on their ugly, evil faces.

Aragorn managed to prop himself up on one elbow. He squinted skywards, puzzled.

Legolas took this respite as an opportunity to get his breath back. As an Elf, his sense of smell was very good, something he clearly regretted at that moment. Even Aragorn could easily discern the horrible stench that came wafting down.

"What _is _that?" muttered one of the men.

"Dunno. Maybe a very large bird?" asked another man, doubtfully.

Legolas snorted.

"Could be a cloud," said a particularly stupid member of the group.

A piercing shriek rang out, sounding rather like the scream of metal against metal. Everyone winced.

"Awful noisy cloud," someone muttered.

Legolas snorted again. "It's obviously a fell beast," he said. "Haven't you heard of them?"

"Course we have," lied the chief sadistic, psychopathic brute, inconsiderately kicking Legolas in the ribs.

Legolas was incredibly good at antagonizing mortals, noted Aragorn.

A dark shape stretched vastly overhead. Everyone gaped at it, except for Legolas who was wriggling towards his weapons. They had been commandeered by the evil men, but if the Elf could get them back, he could inflict some serious damage on the humans in a very short space of time.

Aragorn was personally worried more by the fell beast. Fell beasts meant ringwraiths were near, and ringwraiths were very dangerous and very hard to kill, if, in fact, they actually could be killed.

Aragorn started wriggling in the direction of _his _weapons.

"It's coming towards us! It's going to land in this clearing!" shrieked the men hysterically, and began running around in a panic.

Aragorn, glancing sideways at his friend, could see that Legolas was biting back some kind of sarcastic observation.

"_Begone, mortal wretches, while you live!_" roared a voice from the sky.

Curiously, this order caused everyone to freeze, unbreathing, for a moment. The sheer terror of the men was nearly tangible. Someone keeled over in a dead faint.

"Doesn't sound like a wraith," muttered Legolas, and started wriggling again.

Aragorn had to agree. Though he had never heard a ringwraith speak, he assumed that their voices were more hissing and sinister, not merely loud and annoyed.

The men all started running around again. Occasionally they ran into each other. Occasionally they ran into trees. Legolas seemed rather spitefully amused by their reaction to the fell beast and its mysterious rider.

The fell beast landed awkwardly in the clearing, smashing its wings around and knocking the panicked men about like tenpins. Aragorn pressed himself against the ground as the leathery wings whistled over his head.

Someone was giggling maniacally. "Oh, Mandos, that _was _fun!" she cried. "It was almost worth the miserable trip here!"

"_Nothing _was worth the miserable trip here," replied someone darkly.

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged a puzzled glance.

"_Mandos_?" mouthed Legolas.

"Whatever they are, they are definitely not ringwraiths," said Aragorn quietly.

The giggles continued. Aragorn and Legolas watched as someone scrambled off the fell beast and stretched luxuriously. "These look like the Barrow-downs," she said. "We never thought that they would suddenly appear halfway through the Third Age! Who knows how long they've existed?"

"Shh, Nienna," said the first voice abruptly. "Not all the men have left this clearing."

"Well, no," said Nienna. "It seems that some of them are unconscious." She chuckled.

Legolas had gone very pale. Was this a result of blood loss, wondered Aragorn, or something more sinister?

Legolas saw his confused look. "Mandos and Nienna!" he hissed urgently. "It's the Valar!"

"Valar?" choked Aragorn.

The tallest of the three riders (Valar?) peered around suspiciously. "I wasn't referring to the unconscious men. At least one person here is perfectly alert... and listening to our conversation."

"Don't be so paranoid, Mandos," said Nienna. "It's not like anyone listening would be able to understand a word of this. I'm being very obscure."

Mandos sighed. "So you think," he said.

Nienna sniffed tentatively. "I do smell something... rather different," she said. "Sweeter. It's not the fell beast."

"Elf blood, I think," said Mandos.

Legolas was going paler and paler.

"Oh!" said Nienna. "Elves are all right. We like Elves, don't we? Go and fetch it, Mandos dear, it's probably terrified."

"Hmm," said Mandos.

"Speaking of terrified," said Nienna, "has Lórien revived yet?"

"I think so," said a third voice weakly.

"Of all the ways to discover you are susceptible to vertigo!" said Nienna, sounding far too jaunty to be sympathetic.

Lórien tried to slither out of the saddle, and ended up falling inelegantly on his nose. He made muffled whimpering sounds.

"Help your brother up," said Mandos. "It's partially your fault he is nauseous. I told you to stop telling those terrible jokes."

"I couldn't help it," said Nienna, assisting Lórien as he clambered to his feet. "When I get nervous, I do tend to make terrible jokes."

"She's crying," whispered Legolas. "They _are_ Valar."

Now it was Legolas's turn to make muffled whimpering sounds. Fortunately they were drowned out by the fell beast, which was screeching again.

"Please, make it be quiet, Mandos!" wailed Lórien. "I have such a headache!... Mandos?"

"Mandos?" echoed Nienna, looking around. "Where are you?"

"Here," said Mandos, reaching down and picking up Aragorn and Legolas by their collars, one in each hand. "These are the eavesdroppers."

"They look hurt," observed Nienna.

"Just a few broken ribs, that's all," said Aragorn, so used to insisting he was well that he did so even to a Vala, out of habit. He realized who he was addressing, and added, "Lady Nienna", in an effort not to seem insolent.

"Is that so?" asked Nienna, tapping her foot and grinning through her tears. "How many do you consider to be 'a few'?"

"Three or four?" asked Aragorn.

Legolas made a pained expression in Aragorn's direction, perhaps in an effort to make Aragorn be quiet.

"Mandos," said Nienna, "I know you do this without thinking, but could you _please _try not to scare them so much. I think the Elf is about to– Oh!" she gasped suddenly, clapping her hands over her mouth. "It's Legolas!"

"So it is," said Lórien, from where he was propped against a tree.

"I still feel bad for not sending you a dream, Legolas," said Nienna remorsefully. "I meant to, but such strange things happened, I never found the time."

"That's quite all right," said Legolas carefully. He had decided that he was having a hallucination, and he didn't want to offend it, in case things went from bad to worse.

"If I cry over you," said Nienna, "I might be able to repair a few of your ribs. Mandos, put them down."

Mandos put them down, and then he took a startled breath, said, "Excuse me a moment", and wandered off.

"What's wrong with him?" Nienna asked, and Lórien shrugged.

_

* * *

Vairë, what are you doing here?_

"In your mind, you mean?" asked Vairë silently, tapping her fingers on a windowsill.

_Yes. _

"I am burning a lot of incense and pretty candles, calming myself, trying not to think about the tragic fate of my loom, and communicating with you nonverbally, over a great distance," thought Vairë. "In short, I'm praying. I hope you are enjoying the experience."

_I'm not. I had a headache already. _

"And I'm making it worse?" Vairë smiled to herself.

_Yes._

"My darling, you were always a Vala of few words," thought Vairë. "Now, I have a few important things to tell you."

_I'm listening._

"Good. First of all, Morgoth has returned."

_I am aware of that._

"Good. Second of all, Manwë smashed my loom so that history would freeze, but it didn't work. Now the only source controlling Middle-earth's history is one that is out of our control. We wondered if you knew who is doing the tampering, and where he or she is located."

There was a long silence.

_Luthy. _

"Luthy?"

_A mortal girl in a world known as 'Earth'. She seems the sort of person who would side with the forces of evil._

"Where does she live?"

_I think Earth is quite large. She could be anywhere. _

"Manwë could probably trace her, if he knew what to look for."

_I'll tell you all I can._

"Thank you, Mandos," said Vairë. She settled down more comfortably. "But please tell me quickly, because every second we spend chatting, history is moving farther in the wrong direction."

**TBC...**


	39. A Place Without Ducks

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _the Discworld books, or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing! I'm very sorry that I haven't been able to respond to your reviews individually of late, but I do appreciate them!

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE**

'_Fëanor was driven by the fire of his own heart only, working ever swiftly and alone..._'

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion' _

By the time Mandos came wandering back, Legolas and Aragorn were mended, and Legolas had realized he wasn't hallucinating. As a result of this, Aragorn was up and about, gathering his weapons together, and Legolas was hyperventilating at Nienna's feet.

"We must hurry," announced Mandos. "We need to retrieve the Ring as soon as possible."

"I don't want to get on that _thing _again," said Nienna, pointing at the thing, which was hissing and snapping at Aragorn. "I'd rather walk."

"Same here," said Lórien.

"But first," said Nienna, "I think we should check to see if the Safe Place is here."

"I agree," said Lórien.

Mandos looked at them. "Very well," he said. "We can check. But we need to hurry."

"Should we bring Legolas and Aragorn with us?" asked Nienna.

Mandos nodded. "If the safe place is where it should be, we will send Legolas and Aragorn to warn the other inhabitants of Middle-earth. Everyone needs to get out of the way, so that if any climactic battles between Morgoth and the Valar take place, no one will be hurt."

"Except for Morgoth," said Nienna. "Legolas, get off the ground. We may be Valar, but we are not particularly vicious."

Legolas got off the ground, reassured.

"What will we do with the fell beast?" asked Lórien.

"We'll ask it to stay where it is," said Nienna. "Then we can come back and retrieve it. Doesn't that sound like a good idea, Mandos?"

Mandos sighed. He was beginning to think that Ilúvatar had caused him to be stuck in Middle-earth with his two siblings as punishment for some forgotten misdeed. The Vala walked over to the fell beast, and glared into its eyes. "_Stay_," he growled.

The fell beast subsided, curled up in the clearing, and closed its eyes. It clearly intended to have a lengthy nap.

"Bravo!" said Nienna. "Now, let's find the portal to the safe place."

Mandos, Lórien, Nienna, Legolas, and Aragorn walked around the Barrow-downs. The Valar looked for the portal, and Legolas and Aragorn looked confused.

"I think this is it," said Lórien eventually, pointing two large standing stones. "Jennifer marked them with a secret symbol."

"Did she tell you what the symbol looked like?" asked Mandos.

"No, but she said it would be painfully obvious," said Lórien.

They examined the standing stones, but found nothing that was painfully obvious.

"Maybe we are looking on the wrong side," said Nienna.

They walked around to the other side. They saw a large arrow pointing directly to the left.

"That _is_ painfully obvious," said Lórien. "My intelligence feels insulted."

They walked around the left side of the standing stone, stepped through the portal, and ended up in the Safe Place.

It was dark and quiet, much to the relief of Mandos and Lórien. But the safe place did not look much like Middle-earth. It looked far more like Jennifer's world, with tall buildings on either side of a road. The road was unpaved and grassy, but the houses were stiff and grey.

"I suppose she had trouble imagining proper houses," said Nienna.

The Fëanturi nodded in agreement. They were slightly disappointed by the unaesthetic 'human' look of the place.

"Where are we, exactly?" asked Lórien.

THE MIRKWOOD SECTOR said Mandos, indicating a sign on which those words were written.

"Uh... Mandos? You sound different," said Lórien.

YES, I DO said Mandos experimentally. I WONDER WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY VOICE. IT ECHOES.

"Jennifer said she wrote humor stories," said Nienna. "Maybe it's a weird joke."

The Fëanturi nodded again. They decided that humor writers were risky people to underestimate.

Nienna nudged Legolas's repaired ribs. "This will be your home."

"Oh," said Legolas.

"Do you like it?" asked Nienna.

"It's very... interesting," said Legolas politely. He and Aragorn were sticking close together.

WELL said Mandos, who rather enjoyed sounding this way, LET US EXPLORE THE MIRKWOOD SECTOR.

They did. The Mirkwood Sector was dark and sinister, with spiders scuttling about in the shadows, and cobwebs draped over every spare surface. But as the small group wandered, they began to see that the safe place _was _beautiful, in an odd way.

They traveled through the Mirkwood Sector, to a narrow, roughly-cobbled street (the Misty Mountain Pass), to the Rivendell Sector, which was intersected by a river. A sign indicated that this was the Bruinen.

There were several tasteful waterfalls.

"Pity there are no ducks," said Lórien. "I like ducks."

"The scale of things has greatly diminished," remarked Nienna. "It took a very long time to reach Imladris from Mirkwood, when we were in the real Middle-earth. This trip took only two hours."

Mandos's eyes suddenly lit up, and he set off in the direction of a massive, graceful building that proudly bore the words 'Rivendell Public Library' on the arch over its door. Lórien, Nienna, Legolas and Aragorn trotted after him.

The library was the most beautiful structure they had seen yet. It had a soaring ceiling, set with glass-covered skylights that allowed beams of sunshine to stream down onto the multitude of heavily-laden bookshelves. Ivy grew up the wall in a rather Elvish touch. There was a fountain in the center of the library, with reading desks sitting around it. Various cases and displays were set out for the public's perusal, filled with all sorts of fascinating artifacts, artwork, and even photographs of important historical events (all the way from the forging of the Silmarils to the coronation of Aragorn, son of Arathorn "Don't look, Aragorn," said Nienna hastily, but the man looked anyway.).

Nienna eyed the row of computers that she had discovered. "This is so strange," she said. "We have very old things" – she gestured to the shards of Narsil, shining in their display case– "and we have things we have never possessed before. Things we could not have possessed." She gestured to the wall covered in photographs of _History's Greatest Elves_, as a banner proclaimed. Legolas was already staring at that wall, looking for a picture of himself.

"That's not all," said Lórien, smiling. "Look at the Non-fiction Section."

They went to the Non-fiction Section. The majority of the books there were ancient texts, written in handmade ink on handmade vellum. However, in their corner were several neatly bound, 'Earth' books: _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, The Book of Lost Tales, The History of Middle-earth_. The list went on.

"Isn't it wonderful?" asked Lórien delightedly. "Our history has its proper place now!"

On further examination, the Fantasy Section was found to contain such strange books as _Pride and Prejudice, Oliver Twist, The Iliad, The Scarlet Pimpernel, _and _1984._

The Fiction Section was the most interesting, however, in the minds of the Valar. It was vast, and, if one squinted while crossing one's eyes, one could see that it was constantly expanding. Mandos had a peculiar feeling about it, and soon he saw that what he had first suspected was in fact the truth.

He took a book off the shelf, opened it, and silently read, _'Krystalynn was sitting in her bedroom reading a book_. _She was a hardworking studant who all the teachers loved and she had many friends. However she didn't let any of them intrud on her daily nighttime reading.' _

IT IS AS I THOUGHT he announced to the others. JENNIFER HAS RELEGATED THE WRITINGS OF THE 'FANGIRLS' TO THE FICTION SECTION, THUS HALTING THEIR EFFECT ON THE WORLD. THE ONLY TRUTH IS THAT WHICH CAN BE FOUND IN THE NON-FICTION SECTION.

"You mean the Non-fiction Section actually determines what happened and what did not happen?" asked Nienna.

Mandos nodded.

"Wow." Nienna was awed. She pulled another book off the shelf, morbidly fascinated. _"What do you mean, you painted my hobbit hole pink!" demanded Frodo in horror, _she read. She flipped the book over, and saw that the book was titled 'The Collected Humorous Writings of Jennifer'. She put the book back, realizing that Mandos's theory was correct.

"We shall have to be very careful about shelving these books, if you're right, Mandos," said Lórien. "Because if I moved a Fiction book to the Non-Fiction section, it would change the history of the world again."

YES said Mandos. IF I MOVED JENNIFER'S BOOK TO THE NON-FICTION SECTION, FRODO'S HOBBIT HOLE WOULD TURN PINK.

"Oh dear," said Nienna. "Thinking about this is giving me a headache."

"Then don't think about it," said Lórien. "Do you like this place, Aragorn?"

Aragorn had returned from the time line that had his coronation on it. He had a wild gleam in his eyes. "Yes, I like this place," said he, "particularly the library. I really like the library."

Legolas drifted over next, having discovered that he was considered one of history's greatest Elves, due to joining some group called the Fellowship of the Ring and defeating the Enemy. He looked very pleased. "What a wonderful place this is!" he exclaimed. "I could spend years in this library!"

WE DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME said Mandos. MY SIBLINGS AND I MUST DEFEAT MORGOTH, AND SAURON AS WELL. YOU AND ARAGORN MUST SAVE AS MANY AS YOU CAN BY LEADING THEM TO THIS SAFE PLACE.

"All right," said Legolas. "But won't it get crowded?"

"I think it will expand as more people enter it," said Nienna.

"Wow," said Aragorn.

"Let's go," said Nienna. "We need to snatch the Ring from Bilbo."

SHOULD BE INTERESTING said Mandos.

* * *

Luthy made a sandwich.

**_Hurry up, hurry up_ **said Morgoth's pop-ups annoyingly.

"It's not like everything's going to fall apart the moment I turn my back on the computer," yelled Luthy. She sliced and diced pickles in her kitchen.

**_I have a feeling that Manwë will try to do something soon _**said Morgoth. **_I want to be ready. _**

Luthy poked her head around the corner, read the message on her computer monitor, and rolled her eyes. "How ready do you want to be?" she asked. "The moment your brother shows up, I'll zap him with something he won't expect."

_**And what will that be?**_

"Don't know yet. I'll think of something," said Luthy. She resumed her sandwich making endeavors.

**_Think _**said Morgoth.

**_Of _**said Morgoth.

**_Something _**said Morgoth.

**_NOW! _**said Morgoth, pop-up by pop-up.

When Luthy came to her computer again, sandwich in hand, the screen was littered with the Dark Lord's angry messages.

"If I turn my computer off," asked Luthy, "will you die?"

**_No_** said Morgoth.

"Pity," said Luthy.

* * *

At first Fëanor thought that Amanda-Lynn was doing a strange dance. She would take two determined steps forward, hand firmly on the hilt of her sword, then glance up at the dark towers looming in front of her, and take a quick step back, then whirl around and take a decisive step away from Barad-dûr, and then pause for a few minutes, before turning around and doing the whole thing all over again.

Fëanor slipped through the wall and came into view. Amanda-Lynn gaped at him.

"Greetings, Amanda-Lynn," said Fëanor suavely. He attempted to lean nonchalantly against the wall and nearly fell back through it. Abandoning the wall in disgust, he floated eerily towards her.

"Begone, foul spirit!" cried the Elf. "I am Amanda-Lynn, daughter of Lady Elbereth and Manwë Súlimo, and I shall not suffer thee to come near! Thou doest so at risk of life and limb."

"I'm dead, you silly girl," said Fëanor. "And anyway, we are on the same side, so you really need not threaten me with dismemberment."

"We are on the same side?" asked Amanda-Lynn. "You too seek to destroy the Enemy?"

"Yes," said Fëanor. "Both of them."

"How?" asked Amanda-Lynn. "Do you have any plans? I challenged the Dark Lord to single combat, but he would not come down." She sighed. "When first I came to Middle-earth, I hated it. It was terrible. The Elves were so snooty, and the Men were so crude, and everyone hated me. But then Vána appeared to me with a message from my parents. I am the daughter of Lady Elbereth and Manwë Súlimo, and I have powers. After that, everything went much better." She smirked.

Fëanor stood there, wondering if she were going to suddenly divulge her entire life story to him. "And you tell me this because...?" he asked.

"Because I swore to Legolas that I would defeat the Dark Lord," said Amanda-Lynn, "and I can't think of how I'm going to do it."

"Don't worry," said Fëanor. "I know exactly what we need to do."

**TBC...**


	40. A Cautionary Tale

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reviewing!

**Author's Note: **I will be unable to post any _Strange Alliances _for the next few weeks, due to the fact that I will be in a different country, and unable to do any writing. Sorry for the short notice.

* * *

**CHAPTER FORTY**

"_Indeed he is in great fear, not knowing what mighty one may suddenly appear, wielding the Ring, and assailing him with war, seeking to cast him down and take his place."'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Two Towers'_

Sauron sat at the foot of the throne that now belonged to Melkor, and thought some more. He enjoyed thinking, though he wished he could concentrate better. Having two broken legs was proving to be rather a distraction.

Actually, he doubted they were broken. They were probably just badly sprained. Not a problem. Hardly detrimental at all. He could grin and bear it.

Sauron was an incredibly optimistic Maia. A lesser being would have despaired after suffering two or three crushing defeats at the hands of lesser beings, but Sauron had persevered. He had even done rather well in the end. He'd made his mark. His legs were probably fine.

Sauron wished he had paid more attention during Aulë's lectures on First Aid. He sighed. He started counting by prime numbers in a pointless experiment to see how high he could go. The experiment was pointless because Sauron could count as high as numbers reached.

He had not counted for long before Fëanor returned, with Amanda-Lynn following. She had sheathed her enormous sword, and was trying to sneak quietly through the shadows. Her chainmail kept rattling, and her sparkly hair caught the nearly nonexistent light and shimmered in a very eye-catching way. Her attempt at sneaking was a dazzling failure.

"6991, 6997, 7001," muttered Sauron, watching them. Fëanor, he knew, tended to be unpredictable to the point of predictability, a quality that would make proceedings infinitely more interesting.

"Still conscious?" asked Fëanor unkindly.

"7013," said Sauron.

Fëanor frowned, wondering if Sauron was attempting to make him feel confused and uneasy. He shook the worrying thought away, crossed his arms, and glared down at the Maia. "Amanda-Lynn can heal you," he said, "but first we will lay down our terms."

"All right," said Sauron.

Oh dear, thought Fëanor. His nerves felt wracked.

Sauron looked up at him expectantly.

"I want a body," said Fëanor. "As soon as possible. I'm sick of accidentally slipping through solid objects."

"You shall have a body," said Sauron munificently, with a little wave of his hand. "Anything else?"

Fëanor was worried. It worried him that Sauron was being so obliging. Either Sauron was a lot more desperate than he looked, or he had some amazing plan up his sleeve and was about to double-cross them all.

Fëanor floated backwards the distance of about two steps. "Actually," he said, "I can't trust you. I would be a fool to trust you. Why should Amanda-Lynn heal you?"

Sauron smiled. "I don't even know if she can heal anything," he said.

"We seem to have reached an impasse," said Fëanor after a moment's pause.

"Yes," said Sauron. "And Lord Melkor is returning, so you should probably hide. Or, Amanda-Lynn, you could do something melodramatic and pointless, like challenge Him to single combat. That could prove to be amusing."

Amanda-Lynn glared at him.

"Don't listen to him," said Fëanor. "He's just being obnoxious."

Sauron sighed. "Run and hide, both of you," he said. "I'll distract Him," he finished, assuming a self-sacrificial air.

"We'll be back," said Fëanor.

"Oh, good," said Sauron. "I do _so _look forward to seeing you again."

It was Fëanor's turn to glare at the Maia, but Sauron pointedly pretended not to notice. At last the two hurried away.

"All right, Mouth," said Sauron after a few minutes, "you can come out now."

The MoS slunk out of his hiding place, and Elfdeath lowered herself towards the floor on a strand of gossamer. Sauron smiled, not at them, but to himself. "How good of you to come," he said.

The MoS bowed, but was silent. One of the things about being the Mouth of Sauron was that the Mouth of Sauron had to know when not to talk.

Sauron closed his eyes. "If you would like to kill me," he said, "you may do so now."

"My lord?"

"Don't worry. I won't be offended. I'm tired and wounded and weak. You could kill me and endear yourself to Melkor."

"I do not think Melkor would be very pleased if I killed you, my lord," said the MoS carefully. "I think he wants to keep you alive and unhappy for a very long time."

"Yes, I think so too." Sauron bit his lip. Then he opened his eyes and announced, "Well, if you aren't going to kill me, then you could do something more constructive, like get me out of here. I need to buy myself some time, and the only way to do that is to get out of Melkor's way before He damages me any more."

"I will help you, Master!" cried Elfdeath enthusiastically, running to his side and fawning over him.

"I will help you as well, my lord," said the MoS. "How can I be of service?"

"You're going to have to pick me up," said Sauron. "I can't walk, unfortunately."

The MoS edged forward nervously. He was afraid to even touch the Maia, let alone pick him up and carry him somewhere. "You're so tall now, my lord," he said. "I don't think I can pick you up."

Sauron took a deep breath. "Then you'll have to drag me to safety," he said. "Come here."

The MoS went to his side obediently, and stared down at his lord and wondered what was going to happen next. He glared across at Elfdeath, who had forced him to come and be helpful. He hated that spider.

"I'm not going to enjoy this," said Sauron, "and therefore I will make sure that you do not enjoy it either."

The MoS felt sick, and his hands felt clammy. "Maybe I can pick you up, my lord," he said.

"Try," said Sauron.

The MoS tried. Panic made him clumsy.

"This is not fun," hissed Sauron. "Not fun at all."

"I'm sorry, my lord," gasped the MoS, and promptly dropped him.

"I did not know there were clowns in Mordor," remarked Maedhros.

"I don't think that's a clown," said Lúthien. "It looks like one of Sauron's minions."

"Sauron certainly knows how to hire bumbling idiots," said Maedhros. "Maybe they amuse him."

"He doesn't look much amused at the moment," returned Lúthien.

Elfdeath and the MoS gaped at the two Elves.

"No, he's not amused," said Maedhros. "I think his minion knocked him unconscious."

"Congratulations," Lúthien told the MoS. "You've made our job a lot easier."

Sauron sat up, fully conscious and unamused. "Stay away from me," he said, glaring at the Elves. "I bite."

"We just wanted to talk with you," said Maedhros, holding out his hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I don't talk much when I'm unconscious," said Sauron, not pacified, "so I don't understand how the MoS's rendering me so could have made your job easier."

"Please," said Lúthien, "at least hear us out."

"You have my undivided attention," said Sauron, stroking Elfdeath absently. The MoS thought he could hear her purring.

"We want to defeat Morgoth," said Maedhros. "We need your help."

"We hoped you would know some of his weaknesses," said Lúthien.

"Allow me to tell you a story," said Sauron. "Once upon a time, there was a Vala who turned evil and took over the world. He created orcs. He created balrogs. Because of Him, the people of Middle-earth lived in helpless fear for hundreds of years. It took Manwë's right-hand Maia and a bunch of troops from Valinor to defeat Him. The end."

Lúthien and Maedhros exchanged a look.

"Was that some kind of cryptic hint?" asked Lúthien.

"No," said Sauron, "that was a cautionary tale."

"What do we have to do to persuade you to help us?" asked Lúthien. "Surely you want to vanquish Morgoth. He's not done much for you."

Maedhros had been silent for some minutes, but now he said, "Morgoth is powerful, but I don't think he's very smart. He relies on Sauron, and that's his weakness."

"Because Sauron would gladly double-cross him?" asked Lúthien.

"There's that," said Maedhros, "but there's also the fact that Morgoth would be a lot less efficient without his number one minion."

"That is the nicest thing anyone has said about me all day," Sauron murmured, pretending to dab at his eyes with the corner of his robe.

"So what should we do?" asked Lúthien. "Kill him?"

The MoS, feeling that this was a good moment to demonstrate his loyalty, said, "If you want to kill him, you'll have to fight me first."

"And me!" cried Elfdeath, running at Maedhros to gnaw on his ankles.

"We probably should kill him," said Maedhros doubtfully.

"Not a good idea," said Sauron. "Let me tell you another story."

"Is it cautionary?"

"No, explanatory."

"Then please proceed."

"Once upon a time," said Sauron, "there lived a Maia. He made a powerful magic Ring. Using skills he had learned from Aulë, he put most of his power into that Ring. When Melkor unexpectedly returned, He learned about the Ring and decided to use it to control the world. If the creator of the Ring were to die –or even be killed– all his power would go to the Ring, Melkor would become twice as powerful when He claimed it, and no one would be left to stop Him. The end."

"That seemed more hypothetical than explanatory," said Lúthien.

"You made a magic ring?" demanded Maedhros.

"Let's just say the hypothetical Maia made one," said Sauron, rolling his eyes.

"So we can't kill you?"

"Not unless you want to be crushingly defeated for all time."

"Why did you have to make a magic ring?" yelled Maedhros.

"Believe me, I wish I hadn't."

"Curse you and your stupid plans for world domination!" Maedhros cried.

"Thanks."

"You liar," said Fëanor, dashing through the wall. "Morgoth wasn't coming! You told us that to make us go away!"

"Yes, and it worked," said Sauron. "People wouldn't lie if lying didn't have temporary benefits."

"Father," said Maedhros, "we're trying to decide if we should kill Sauron."

"I think we should," said Amanda-Lynn, who had been more conventional than Fëanor, and entered the room by the door.

"I don't think we should," said Lúthien. "It wouldn't be fair."

"Why are you so concerned about being fair?" asked Maedhros. "You put Morgoth to sleep so that you could steal a silmaril."

"We didn't kill him in cold blood," said Lúthien.

"You should have," growled Fëanor.

("Say the word, my lord, and Elfdeath and I will kill them all," whispered the MoS.)

(Sauron smiled and shook his head.)

"He says that if we kill him, Morgoth will be unstoppable," said Lúthien.

"That's just the sort of thing he _would _say," said Fëanor. "Anything to extend his miserable existence."

("My lord," said the MoS, suddenly confused, "did you not ask me to kill you not long ago?")

(Sauron smiled again. "If you had actually tried to do so," he said, "you would have died very quickly.")

"We don't have to kill him," said Lúthien at last. "We could just take him to a place where Morgoth wouldn't be able to find him."

"Good idea," said Maedhros. "If he's not helpful, we could kill him later anyway," he added threateningly.

"I assure you," said Sauron, "I shall be _extremely _helpful."


	41. Extreme Help

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Yes, _Strange Alliances _has indeed returned, after a longer-than-expected break. Thank you reading, reviewing, and prodding me to get this story restarted. (And, of course, my groveling apologies for the lengthy delay.)

I will try to post a new chapter every week on Monday; this might not always be possible. If that is so, I will post the new chapter whenever I can.

_

* * *

_

**CHAPTER FORTY-ONE**

_'He put the ring in his pocket almost without thinking; certainly it did not seem of any particular use at the moment.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Hobbit' _

It turned out that Sauron's form of help did not differ in the least from anything he had done before. He sat in his little corner and made sarcastic remarks, and told them no more stories, neither cautionary nor explanatory. In his opinion, he was being very helpful, much more helpful than any Dark Lord should ever be. If he chose to dispense his wisdom in the form of sarcasm, who could blame him?

After enduring several penetrating insults at Sauron's tongue, Maedhros lost his temper. Such an event had been inevitable from the beginning.

"Your help has been somewhat lacking," Maedhros said, glaring down at the Maia.

"Do you think so?" asked Sauron mildly. "Perhaps you should learn to better cope with constructive criticism."

At the prospect of an argument between a son of Fëanor and a Dark Lord, Lúthien, Amanda-Lynn, Fëanor, the MoS, and Elfdeath all started paying attention, while trying to look preoccupied with other matters. They had been hiding in close proximity with one another for some time, accomplishing very little, and some drama was welcome.

Maedhros, however, kept a very tight reign on his temper. He managed a rather distorted and disturbing smile in Sauron's direction. "I bear you nothing but goodwill," he said.

Sauron blinked. "Oh?"

"I would like to help _you_," said Maedhros.

"You needn't," said Sauron. "I expect nothing in return for my services."

"That's what I like about you," said Maedhros, with another contorted smile. He was trying to be cheery.

At this point, Sauron became genuinely alarmed. "What sort of help do you propose to give me?" he asked.

"Your legs need to be splinted," said Maedhros, "or they will heal all wrong. Fortunately, I know something of... the medicinal arts."

"My legs will be fine," said Sauron.

"They _will _be fine," said Maedhros, "once I've tended to them."

From her corner, Lúthien asked, "Do you really know anything about splinting broken bones, Maedhros?"

"If anyone must splint my lord's legs," said the MoS, in an attempt to demonstrate his loyalty, "I should."

Sauron looked even more alarmed. "I'd rather you didn't, Mouth," he said. "The knowledge of medicinal arts isn't really your strong point."

"Someone should help him," said Lúthien. "Sauron is, after all, a living creature, and it is our duty to keep living creatures from living in pain and misery. We can't let his legs heal all wrong when we are capable of helping him. That would be cruel."

Sauron blinked again. He decided that the strange thing about people with moral values is that they are very good at persuading themselves that whatever they want to do is the _right _thing to do, and in everyone's best interests.

Sauron asked, "Do I have a say in this matter?"

Maedhros chuckled. "Well... no, you don't," he said. "You are outnumbered, and you can't go anywhere."

There really wasn't a good way to respond to that kind of statement, so Sauron said nothing. He said nothing when Maedhros practiced some medicinal arts on him. Afterwards, he merely said, "Thank you, Maedhros. That was very helpful," and then he sat with his eyes closed for a while.

Sauron considered himself to be surrounded by the clueless and confused.

Sauron had warned Fëanor with a roundabout directness, telling him to his face that he was a skilled necromancer, and that Fëanor had good cause to fear him, being dead. But Fëanor was not yet used to being dead, and did not take Sauron's warning into account, which was a serious mistake. Sauron mentally relegated Fëanor to the 'clueless' category.

Lúthien was confused. Explanations on the part of Fëanor had done nothing to help her. Fëanor's explanations were so confusing they probably made the situation worse.

Maedhros was also confused, but less confused than Lúthien. Fëanor had explained that, after being whisked out of the Halls of Tulkas, he had ended up in an entirely different world, had adventures with the Valar, agreed to help them, created a Safe Place for the inhabitants of Middle-earth, come to Middle-earth, tried to kill Legolas, etc., etc. Maedhros, who knew his father very well, knew enough to read between the lines, and therefore got a pretty accurate picture of what had really happened. It did not all make sense to him, but he realized it was possible.

Elfdeath was clueless, but devoted, and the MoS was confused, but potentially traitorous. Sauron kept his eye on him.

Amanda-Lynn... well, she was clueless _and _confused _and _annoying. She had apparently promised Legolas that she would engage in single combat with Sauron, kill him, and save the world. Her bizarre fantasy had been amusing at first, but eventually everyone grew tired of hearing her talk about it as though she were capable of such a feat.

The biggest problem –for Sauron, at least– was that _everyone_ wanted to kill him, except Elfdeath, who didn't count. He was lucky that he'd gotten away with merely having his legs splinted, since the only thing stopping most of them from killing him was their fear that doing so would make the Ring more powerful. The only thing stopping Morgoth from killing Sauron was the fact that he couldn't find him.

"There's a price on your head, Sauron," reported Fëanor one day, after he returned from his reconnaissance mission. "Today Morgoth discovered that you let the Valar escape. He is not amused."

"He never had a sense of humor," said Sauron.

"He has been stomping around Barad-dûr, coming up with some brilliant ways of torturing you," said Fëanor.

"It's so nice to be able to look forward to something," said Sauron.

"And he's been offering his new minions all sorts of wonderful rewards for your capture," said Fëanor.

"The lazy wretches need incentive," said Sauron.

"I really think you should be more worried."

"I don't believe worrying ever did anyone any good," said Sauron. "I myself never worry. I scheme."

This was true.

Annoyed, Fëanor reflected that his conversations with Sauron never seemed to go as planned. The Maia refused to take the situation seriously. He should have been overcome with panic by this point. Perhaps if he had heard Morgoth's threats, he would have been more worried. Morgoth, devoid of a sense of humor, had clearly not been joking about Sauron's fate at his hands.

"How do you plan to evade Morgoth forever?" asked Fëanor. "Sooner or later, someone will think to look in the utility closet."

"Several people have already thought to look," said Sauron. "They disappeared."

Fëanor looked sharply at Sauron, and Sauron looked sweet and innocent (or as sweet and innocent as someone with yellow eyes and pointy teeth can look).

Sauron smiled. "It's never a good thing when minions show signs of initiative and creative thinking," he added, raising his voice just a little. "It never pays."

Somewhere in the shadows of the large utility closet, the MoS stirred guiltily.

"Don't you think so, Mouth?" asked Sauron.

"Whatever you say, my lord," said the MoS.

"Anyway," said Sauron, turning abruptly back to Fëanor, "I do not have to hide from Melkor forever. I need only to hide for a little longer, and then all my problems will be solved."

Fëanor was suspicious. "It will be that easy?"

"I did not say it would be easy. It won't be _long_," said Sauron. "The Valar are doing something for me, instead of doing something to me. Makes a nice change for everyone involved."

"I see," said Fëanor. "That's very good of them."

"They think they're doing it for their own interests," said Sauron, "but yes, I suppose it is good of them."

At this point, Amanda-Lynn and Lúthien returned to the utility closet, squabbling as only two beautiful women can. Amanda-Lynn and Elfdeath were the only two creatures who could come within a meter of Lúthien, and this was probably a bad thing.

Amanda-Lynn said, "I don't see why everyone thinks you're so special. You didn't _kill _Morgoth. You didn't _fight _Morgoth. You merely danced around and lulled him to sleep."

Lúthien said, "Fine. If you're so special, why don't you go out and challenge Morgoth to single combat? I could do with a laugh."

Amanda-Lynn flung back her head, and all her thick blonde hair flew about majestically. She said, "I'm not saying Iwant to fight Morgoth. I just don't understand why everyone lauds you for such a trivial feat."

Lúthien sighed. "Please," she said, "let us end this pointless debate. We'll ask Sauron what he thinks."

"All right," said Amanda-Lynn.

Lúthien and Amanda-Lynn advanced on the Maia.

"Sauron," said Lúthien perfunctorily, "do you think Amanda-Lynn should challenge Morgoth to single combat?"

"Oh yes," said Sauron.

"Wait a moment!" said Amanda-Lynn, backpedaling.

"That would prove, beyond all doubt, that Amanda-Lynn is much braver than I, wouldn't it?" said Lúthien.

"Yes, it would," said Sauron. "Beyond all doubt."

Amanda-Lynn said, "But– I– I mean–"

Lúthien and Sauron looked across at each other, perfect understanding glinting in their eyes.

"I– really– I couldn't–" stammered Amanda-Lynn.

"Nonsense!" cried Sauron, suddenly and scarily avuncular. "You are too modest!"

"_Far_ too modest," put in Lúthien.

"Go forth and fight," said Sauron. "You have my blessing; much good may it bring you."

"I don't want any blessing of yours!" said Amanda-Lynn fiercely. "It would probably backfire horribly!"

"You are going to need all the blessings you can get, my dear," Sauron said.

* * *

Bilbo was sitting outside his hobbit hole, basking in the warm sunlight and smoking his pipe. These were favorite activities of his, if indeed they could be described as 'activities'. Being a hobbit, Bilbo disliked doing anything that was even slightly strenuous, with the exception of the odd adventure now and then. In that way, Bilbo was quite different from other hobbits. 

Three exceedingly tall individuals strolled into his garden.

Bilbo stared at them, so astounded he actually felt compelled to remove his pipe from his mouth. He stood up and said, "Good morning."

"Good morning," said the three exceedingly tall individuals as one.

They all stood and looked at each other for a long moment.

"Well," said one of the men, "aren't you going to do something, Mandos?"

"Such as knock the poor dear over the head and make off with his Ring?" asked the woman. "Sounds like fun. Go for it, Námo."

The tallest man, looking grim and irritated in long black robes, turned around to scowl at the others. "Perhaps _you _should do the knocking and snatching, Nienna. It seems that I've been the one doing all the dirty work of late."

"But you do it so _well_," said Nienna, fluttering her damp eyelashes and clasping her hands before her.

Bilbo cleared his throat. "Good morning," he said again, forestalling Mandos's retort.

Nienna came forward and curtseyed low to him. "Good morning, Master Hobbit," she said brightly. "I trust you are in fine form and fettle?"

"Er... yes," said Bilbo, retreating slightly.

"Wonderful!" said Nienna. "Now, my brothers and I have something... important... to ask of you. Believe me, we are very reluctant to make demands of you, but, if you help us, you will have helped save Middle-earth from a great evil."

"Oh," said Bilbo. "What do you want?"

"A mere trinket," said Nienna, lying through her teeth. "A ring."

None of the Valar missed the sudden wary –and almost angry– look that flashed briefly across the hobbit's face. Nienna winced, realizing she had made a misstep. "I don't have time to go into details," she said, plowing ahead bravely, "but if you continue to keep it, you might be killed by servants of the Enemy, and if you give it to us, we will use it to protect Middle-earth."

"But even if I give the Ring to you, I might still be killed by servants of the Enemy, mightn't I?" asked Bilbo. "Except they won't get the trinket, so my death won't matter."

Nienna blinked. "Well..." she said. "I hadn't really thought about that..."

Bilbo said, "I have been in contact with the Elves, and I know all about the Valar, and I know that's what you are."

This time it was Nienna who took a step back. "You are a very well-informed hobbit," she said, eyeing him as one would eye a snake that had suddenly started singing in iambic pentameter.

"And therefore not what you expected?"

Nienna nodded.

"In that case," Bilbo said, "why don't the three of you come inside, have some tea and cakes, and tell me what is going on?"

The offer of tea and cakes sounded very good to the three Valar, who had skipped several meals and were feeling strangely hungry. Unfortunately, the delicious snack was not meant to be.

The ringwraiths might have reached Bilbo's hobbit hole before Morgoth's minions, but the ringwraiths were guided only by the call of the ring, and Morgoth's minions were guided by Luthy's insider knowledge. Though Luthy was, to some extent, a purist, she had been willing to give Morgoth's servants a little boost, hence their early arrival.

At the sight of a lot of evil creatures charging towards him, Bilbo quickly took action. "Hide!" he cried, diving into his hole. Lórien also dove, or attempted to dive. He misjudged the distance and bashed his head on the lintel.

"Hurry up, you bumbling buffoon!" growled Mandos, in no mood to be forgiving. He thrust his brother through the door and followed rapidly.

The ceiling would have been low for any average-sized human being. For an elf, it would have been even lower. For the Valar, it was so low that crawling became their most reasonable mode of movement.

Mandos, Nienna, and Lórien crawled after Bilbo.

"Please," said Nienna, "if you gave us the Ring, we could spare you all this unpleasantness."

"And we could spare ourselves this unpleasantness," muttered Lórien and Mandos with grim accord.

Bilbo had been fumbling with something in his pocket, which he proceeded to accidentally drop on the floor. The Valar lunged at it, sending the hobbit flying.

Sauron would have been proud, had he been able to see the ensuing riot. Bilbo, Nienna, and the Fëanturi did lots of violent things to each other in their effort to get to the One Ring before anyone else did.

At last a certain Vala felt his hand close around something cold and hard. He felt the evil power trapped within the gold pulsing to his heartbeat.

"Got it!" he cried triumphantly, and shoved Sauron's One Ring on his finger.

**TBC...**


	42. Evil, Evil Everywhere

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! You make it good to be back.

* * *

**CHAPTER FORTY-TWO**

'"_With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power sill greater and more deadly.'"_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Somewhere in a utility closet in a dark tower in Mordor, Sauron hissed his breath through his teeth, sounding surprised and perhaps a little irritated. Everyone looked at him curiously, except for Lúthien and Amanda-Lynn, who were no longer with them.

"What?" asked Fëanor. "What happened?"

"Someone has claimed my Ring."

"Your 'One Ring'?" asked Maedhros. "The Ring containing most of your power? The Ring with absolutely no safety features _at all_, that just anyone could claim and use, if they got their hands on it? That Ring?"

"Yes," said Sauron, glowering. "That one."

"What does that mean?" asked Maedhros. "What should we expect?"

"It means I am going to be tired and cranky," Sauron said. "So give me space and don't wake me up. Thank you. Good night."

Sauron closed his eyes and appeared to go to sleep. Everyone else sat quietly for a while.

"Where are Lúthien and Amanda-Lynn?" Fëanor asked eventually.

"Amanda-Lynn went to challenge Morgoth to single combat, and Lúthien went to watch," Elfdeath said.

"She went to challenge Morgoth to single combat, and she didn't tell me?"

Elfdeath bobbed up and down. "Yes."

"Excuse me," Fëanor said. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Me too."

"Me too."

Elfdeath watched in bemusement as Fëanor, Maedhros, and the MoS dashed out of the closet.

* * *

Mandos should have been the one to get his hands on the Ring. After all, he already possessed a dark aura, an imposing stare, and a very scary voice. He also wore black all the time, had black hair, black eyes, and was pale beyond belief. He would have been perfect. 

To everyone's surprise, Mandos did not grab the Ring and go on to become the world's next dark lord. This was not his fault. He was doing his very best to get his hands on it.

Sweet, mild-mannered Lórien managed to snatch the ring instead.

He did not vanish. He stood quite still, and quite visible, staring at the ring on his finger and looking pleased with himself.

Bilbo, Nienna and Mandos gaped at him.

"Not _you_," Nienna said.

Fortunately, Lórien did not appear to hear his sister's comment. He gazed at the ring as though mesmerized, which indeed he was.

"Nice work," said Mandos, holding out his hand. "Now give the ring to me, please."

Lórien snapped out of his daze. "Why should I? I can operate this thing just as well as you." He waved a hand airily.

"Yeeargh!" cried Bilbo, flinging himself at the Vala's ankles.

Nienna cleared her throat. "Morgoth's minions advance on us still," she said. "Could you take care of them, Irmo?"

"No problem," Lórien said. He thought for a moment."That should do it," he said. He chuckled.

They walked out of the hobbit hole, and saw the minions lying around, thoroughly dead.

"Impressive," Nienna said.

Nienna and Mandos turned to look at Lórien. Their thoughts were running along the same lines. They were wondering if they could possibly take Lórien by surprise, wrestle him to the ground, and snatch the ring from him. They pondered the pros and cons of such a method. It occurred to both of them that if Lórien could kill so many of Morgoth's minions just by thinking about it, he could probably kill his siblings too.

Nienna and Mandos decided to bide their time.

"Now what?" Nienna asked.

"We should go back to Mordor," Lórien said.

"And what will we do in Mordor?" Nienna asked.

"First, we'll overthrow Morgoth, and then we'll overthrow Sauron," Mandos said. And then we'll overthrow Lórien, he thought.

"It would be quickest to ride the Fell Beast," Nienna said.

"Yes," Mandos said.

Lórien thought for another moment. Then he said, "I have called the Fell Beast, and it is coming to pick us up."

Mandos and Nienna nodded wisely. Lórien pried off Bilbo from his leg.

Suddenly, nine dark figures loomed on the horizon.

"Those are the ringwraiths," Lórien said. "You don't need to be afraid of them. I'll tell them not to hurt you."

"Thanks," Nienna said.

The ringwraiths walked up to Lórien and bowed.

Lórien beamed at them. "The ring is mine," he announced.

"That's fantastic, master," Two said.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Seven asked.

Lórien thought. "You're on my side?" he asked. "Not Sauron's? You won't try to double-cross me, will you?"

"Of course not." Three sounded appalled at the thought. "We are completely on your side."

The other ringwraiths nodded.

"Oh. Good," Lórien said. "My first command is this: if anyone tries to grab the Ring from me, dismember him. Or her."

Nienna sighed inaudibly.

Mandos looked almost amused.

* * *

Amanda-Lynn walked tentatively into Morgoth's throne-room, lugging her huge sword after her. Morgoth was sitting on the throne, cleaning his fingernails with his teeth, or possibly vice versa. 

_Ew,_ thought Amanda-Lynn.

Morgoth blinked at her. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

* * *

"Um, what just happened?" asked Luthy, gaping at her computer screen. "Who is this obnoxious female?" 

_**I do not know. She says she wants to engage me in single combat.**_

"No problem," said Luthy, rubbing her hands together. "We'll blast her into oblivion. She won't know what hit her. It'll be funny."

**_Don't be so hasty_ **said Morgoth, ent-like. **_She may be brainless, but she may also be useful. One never knows until one makes sure._**

"Brainless people aren't useful," Luthy said.

_**I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and pretend you didn't actually mean that. **_

_**Idiot.**_

* * *

Morgoth laughed ominously. "You want to fight me?" he asked. 

Amanda-Lynn did not really want to fight Morgoth, but she was deluded enough to believe that she could fight him and win. "Yes," she said. Her voice only shook a little, but her sword hardly shook at all.

Morgoth laughed again, even more ominously. "Why do you want to fight me?"

"Because it's the right thing to do!" Amanda-Lynn said, deciding not to mention the deal she had made with Lúthien.

Morgoth leaned forward. "Perhaps," he said, "you could join my side. That would be much more... rewarding."

"Really?" asked Amanda-Lynn, lowering her sword slightly. "In what way?"

* * *

"She's mentally unhinged. Definitely loopy," Luthy said. "What could she do for you? Let's obliterate her." 

**_We're not going to obliterate her just yet _**Morgoth said.

"Oh, really?" Luthy's fingers flew across the keys (figuratively speaking, of course) as she typed out the words: _With a sneer, Morgoth waved his hand and the silly girl fell writhing to the ground and perished. _

**_Hey! _**said Morgoth, through another pop-up.

"Oops. Sorry," said Luthy. "My fingers slipped."

_**A likely story!**_

"You don't have to like it," Luthy said. "It's the only story you'll get. I'm the one writing this, remember?"

* * *

From her lofty vantage point, Lúthien sat back and smiled. "I wish all life's little problems could be solved like that," she said. 

"You point at them and they make a weird fizzling sound and disappear forever?" Fëanor asked.

Lúthien nodded.

"I agree," Fëanor said.

"So do I," the MoS said.

"It would make life so much simpler."

"Nothing would ever bother you."

"For long."

The two live elves, the dead elf, and the mysteriously long-lived Númenorean chuckled together, all getting along nicely for once.

"Of course, if everyone could do that, life would simple because we'd all be dead," Maedhros said.

"True," Lúthien said. "But that's all the more reason to become a Dark Lord, isn't it? You'd be the only one with that power."

This time there was a reflective silence, as all four imagined being Dark Lords, zapping their problems and living contentedly with lots of power at their fingertips.

"Sauron says the Valar are going to help him solve all his problems," Fëanor said. "I wonder how he convinced them to do that."

"I know how he convinced them," the MoS said.

"Oh?"

"He sent them to look for his Ring."

"One of them must have found it," Lúthien said, "and claimed it."

"We'll have to deal with _another _evil Vala?" Maedhros said.

"My lord said the Valar would fight over the Ring. They might even wipe each other out. Then the ringwraiths will take the Ring and bring it to him," the MoS said.

"Clever."

"Very."

"Diabolical, even," Lúthien said. She sighed. "What are we going to do? How many evils must we chose between? Morgoth is evil, Sauron is evil, the Valar are going to be evil, and I personally think that you, and you, and you, are all evil too," she said, pointing at the MoS and the kinslayers in turn.

"I prefer the term 'conflicted'," Maedhros said.

"I prefer the term 'driven'," Fëanor said.

"I'm fine with 'evil'," the MoS said.

Lúthien gave them a kind of lopsided glare. "Fortunately, you may all be evil, but you aren't as powerful as Valar and Maiar."

"And that makes us the lesser of four evils!" Fëanor said cheerfully. "We'll join sides as it suits us. We'll join Sauron and gang up on the evil Vala, then the five of us will destroy Morgoth, and then we'll find some really tricky, clever way to eliminate Sauron before he can eliminate us."

"And then we'll take care of... some other small problems," Maedhros said. By this, he meant Fëanor, Lúthien, and the Mouth.

Maedhros thought he had a good chance of winning. After all, his father couldn't kill him, he was more than the match for some demented human, and Lúthien could always be wooed, or impaled with something more than a meter long.

Fëanor thought he had a good chance of winning. After all, no one could kill him. Of course, he couldn't pick up anything, let alone wield a magical Ring, but that wouldn't really be a problem. He could persuade Sauron to give him a body again, and proceed from there.

Lúthien thought she had a good chance of winning. After all, her dazzling beauty could be useful in a lot of different ways. It might lead the three males to think she was an idiot, and totally oblivious to their various stratagems.

The MoS thought he had a good chance of winning. After all, he could help Sauron destroy the elves, act very loyal, reassure Sauron of his devotion, and then kill him somehow, when he wasn't expecting it.

"Yes," Lúthien said. "We must work together if we wish to accomplish anything."

"Yes," Fëanor, Maedhros, and the MoS said in unison, looking sincere.

They smiled at each other.

**TBC...**


	43. The Taming of Sauron

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**CHAPTER FORTY-THREE**

"'_All you wish is to see it and touch it, if you can, though you know it would drive you mad. Not on it. Swear by it, if you will.'" _

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Two Towers'_

The more powerful an individual, the more powerful the call of the Ring. Mandos managed to withstand temptation for about twenty minutes, and then he tackled Lórien from behind and yanked the Ring away from him. Lórien was lucky not to lose a finger.

At first Mandos's little brother was more startled than offended. Then, when he realized what had just happened, his offense turned to outrage. "Ringwraiths, attack!" he yelled.

Mandos smirked, putting the Ring on his finger. "Don't waste your breath, Lórien. Your ringwraiths would have done their best to stop me, if they had still been around to try."

Lórien looked down, and saw nine puddles of black clothing lying at his feet. "Oh," he said.

"I'm the Keeper of the Dead. I'm the Doomsman of the Valar," Mandos said. "Threatening to throw wraiths at me if I misbehave isn't threatening at all."

Lórien rallied himself and leaped at Mandos. "The Ring is mine!" he shouted. "I got it first!"

Mandos sidestepped him. "Please don't become a liability, Irmo," he said. "I don't want to have to–"

Lórien did not seem to comprehend the danger he was in. He lunged at his brother again. This time Mandos raised his hand, and the other Vala's body dropped limply to the ground.

Nienna stifled a squeak, taking a hop-skip away from her brother. "Mandos!" she said. "You didn't... kill him?"

Mandos shook his head. "I sent his spirit back to Valinor, leaving his body unoccupied."

"In other words, you did kill him."

"Well, yes," Mandos said. He looked vexed. "He made me do it."

"Yes, yes, of course," Nienna said. "It wasn't your fault at all." She took a few thoughtful steps backwards. "_I'm _not a liability, am I?"

"No," said Mandos. "Not yet."

"When we all go back to Valinor, after the world is saved," Nienna said, still tentative, "Manwë will not be very pleased."

"I'm not going back to Valinor," Mandos said.

"I see," Nienna said. "Manwë might send some elves to depose you," she added. "He destroyed Morgoth that way."

"I'm nothing like Morgoth," Mandos said. "His areas of expertise lay in all the wrong places. He and Sauron were good at making things, mere gadgets. I can relocate fëar only by thinking about it. No army will be able to stand against me."

"I see," Nienna said again. "But why couldn't you 'relocate' Morgoth's fëa when he first showed up? If I remember correctly, you just stood there and gaped at him."

Mandos scowled. "Middle-earth weakened me... but only slightly, of course. With this Ring, my strengths and talents have increased tenfold."

"So you'll be able to kill Morgoth?" Nienna asked.

Mandos nodded.

"And then you'll destroy the Ring?"

"Yes," Mandos said.

Nienna sighed in relief. "Let's go, then," she said. "Let's hurry."

* * *

Days passed. 

A subdued Nienna and disturbingly exultant Mandos rode towards Mordor on their fell beast.

Morgoth roamed the corridors of Barad-dûr, searching in vain for his Maia, and wondering why his minions had not yet returned with the Ring.

Sauron was tired and cranky. Elfdeath spent most of her time snuggled up next to him, quietly raving about how wonderful he was, which seemed to make him less cranky, though it drove everyone else crazy.

Meanwhile, Fëanor, Maedhros, Lúthien and the MoS lived together in a kind of harmony, each knowing exactly how far they could trust the others.

At last the day came when Mandos and Nienna sneaked into Barad-dûr, and were eventually discovered by Fëanor, who was also engaged in sneaking.

"Where's Lórien?" Fëanor asked.

"He passed away," Nienna said.

"Where's the Ring?" Fëanor asked.

"I have it," Mandos said.

"Ah," Fëanor said. "Well, that's good, I suppose. You're on the side of right, and all that, aren't you?"

"Yes," Mandos said.

The Vala's mouth twitched. Fëanor thought he was trying not to smile, and this freaked him out so much that he lost his train of thought and just made noises for a while. Fortunately, the noises were quiet ones, and Nienna and Mandos were distracted, so no one noticed them.

Eventually Mandos turned to the fëa, eyebrows raised. "...You were saying something, Fëanor?"

"Yes. No. I was saying–" Frustrated with himself, Fëanor stuck his hand through his face in his attempt to slap his palm to his forehead. This served only to make him more frustrated. "I was _suggesting _that you follow me." He somehow managed to look dignified. "We have serious matters to discuss."

* * *

"Welcome to my humble utility closet," Sauron said, as Mandos and his sister entered the room. The Maia's eyes were glittering. "You have the Ring?" he asked. "You brought it with you?" 

"Yes," Mandos said. "I have claimed the Ring."

"Marvelous," Sauron said.

"You can destroy Morgoth now," Lúthien said.

Mandos nodded gravely. "I will destroy Morgoth, and then I will destroy the Ring."

"No!" Sauron said, sitting straight up. He shook his head. "No. Destroying my ring would not be a good idea. At all. A very bad idea, really, if you think about it like a rational individual."

"Why?" Mandos asked.

Sauron looked completely blank for several seconds. Then he said, "Because, obviously, you will be powerless without the ring, and powerful with it. Obviously, you would rather be powerful than powerless, so destroying the ring would defeat your purposes and be a very silly move. Obviously."

"I think sometimes it's a good idea to overlook the obvious and pay attention to the small print," Lúthien said.

"Like insanity and ring-addiction," Maedhros said.

"It's actually not that bad," Sauron said.

They stared at him.

"Right," Nienna said. "When a Dark Lord starts saying that insanity isn't 'that bad' it's probably a good idea to change the subject back to destroying his ring."

Everyone nodded, with one notable –albeit predictable– exception.

"We'll take the ring to Orodruin and throw it in," Fëanor said. "The world will be saved. Everyone will be happy."

"No," Sauron said. "Not everyone."

They ignored him.

"Um," said Sauron, "I'll do anything?"

They stopped ignoring him.

"Anything?" several people asked as one.

"Anything," Sauron said, more firmly. "Anything you like. Just don't throw my ring into Orodruin."

They pondered.

"It's a tempting offer," Fëanor said, "but we can't agree to it."

"Why not?" the MoS asked.

Sauron did not look surprised at this act of treachery, only angry and vindictive.

"Much as I dislike agreeing with Fëanor, I think he's got the right idea for once," Lúthien said. "Sauron's offer is clearly a diversion to buy himself some more time."

"And time is working against us at present," Maedhros said. "We need to get to Orodruin to destroy the ring as quickly as possible."

"Exactly," Mandos said. Then he said, "What happened to Sauron?"

"Morgoth broke his legs," said several people at once.

"Oh," Mandos said. "Nienna, would you cry over them?"

Nienna did so. Sauron's injuries were healed.

With Nienna's help, the Maia clambered to his feet and wobbled over to Mandos. "Please," he said, "we need to talk. Alone."

"Very well," Mandos said.

* * *

Out in the hallway, Sauron stood and looked discomfited. Then he took a deep breath and said, "I meant it. I'll do anything. Just _don't destroy my Ring. _Do you realize what will happen to me if you do?" 

"Yes," Mandos said, "and you'll deserve every moment of what happens to you. You have sent many, many fëar to my halls."

"You don't have to give me the Ring," Sauron said. "All I ask is that you don't destroy it. In your hands, it can be used for good. If you destroy it, you'll lose that power."

Mandos hesitated. "I suppose so," he said, rather doubtfully.

"It's true," Sauron said. "Think of all that power going to waste, when you could use it productively."

Mandos rubbed one finger along the gold band. Then he shook his head. "No," he said. "You're lying. The Ring must be destroyed. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous, in the wrong hands," Sauron said.

"Dangerous in any hands."

"I'll serve you," Sauron said. "I have some measure of power left. I'll use it to aid you in all your causes. I'll swear to be loyal to you. But please–"

"Don't destroy your Ring?"

Sauron nodded.

"All right," Mandos said. "Let's hear you swear, then."

"I swear to serve the Master of my Ring," Sauron said. He raised his eyebrows. "Will that do?"

"Not quite," Mandos said. "It's my Ring now, and you will swear to serve me."

"I swear to serve Mandos," Sauron said, rolling his eyes. "I swear it by the Ring."

"Thank you," Mandos said. "That will do very nicely."

Curufin was crafty. Sauron was craftier. Mandos was the craftiest of all.

Mandos chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Sauron asked suspiciously.

Mandos grinned at him. "I never intended to destroy the Ring, Sauron. What sort of fool do you take me for? I would never discard such an excellent source of power. No. I wanted you to swear fealty to me, and I thought this would be the best way to achieve that. Clearly, it was."

Mandos went back into the utility closet. Sauron blinked after him, stunned. Ever since Mandos had claimed the Ring, Sauron had been drained and distracted. This revelation brought the situation sharply back into focus.

"Curse him!" the ex-Dark-Lord yelled. "To take advantage of a poor Maia's distracted state like that! It's unValarly!"

He ground his teeth. "Curse him," he said again, more quietly. He kicked the wall, which reminded him that his legs were healed. That, at least, was a good thing.

"He never would have thought up a plot like that on his own," he said. "He never would have been able to pull it off if he hadn't been using my own cunning against me."

In a twisted way, that was comforting.

Sauron had never been so frustrated. His head felt as though it were stuffed with fluff. He muttered to himself for a few minutes. He paced back and forth as he muttered, which helped him think a little more clearly.

At length he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Serving Mandos will be... interesting," he said reflectively. "Yes. I will make it very interesting."

He smoothed down his spiky hair, and went back into his utility closet.

**TBC...**


	44. Tyranny and Injustice for All!

**Strange Alliances**

**by Erestor**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing pertaining to _The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, _or the _Harry Potter _series. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

**CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR**

'_...And Eönwë, the banner-bearer and herald of Manwë, whose might in arms is surpassed by none in Arda.'_

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, 'The Silmarillion'_

Lórien swept into Manwë's office, formless and irate.

"Mandos _killed _me," he said.

Manwë blinked. "Mandos killed you?"

"Yes."

"But why?" Manwë asked, his brow furrowed. "Why would he want to do such a thing?"

"He is consumed with lust for Sauron's Ring!" Lórien said. "He killed me for it!"

Manwë sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Then he said, "Allow me to ask you a few questions."

"I will tell you everything!" Lórien said. He proceeded to try to do so, in a rapid, convoluted way that made no sense and merely wasted a lot of time.

Manwë held up his hand for silence. "Please," he said. "Just answer a few questions."

"All right."

"First, does Mandos have Sauron's Ring now?"

"Yes."

"Second, did he kill you specifically to get it from you? You weren't just being annoying or something?"

"He killed me for the Ring," Lórien said, "and no, I was not being 'annoying'. I am never annoying."

"Of course." Manwë said, perfectly straight-faced. As Lord of the Valar, he was used to dealing with similarly deluded individuals on a regular basis. "Third," he said, "do you know what Mandos plans to do with the Ring?"

"I presume he plans to use it to become all-powerful and take over the world," Lórien said. "That's what I would have done."

Manwë raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't mean to say that," Lórien said hastily.

"I'm sure," Manwë said, still straight-faced. "Thank you. You have been a great help."

After Lórien had left, Manwë pondered the situation for a few minutes. It seemed that exposure to Middle-earth had a bad influence on the most well-balanced of Valar. First it affected their powers, and then it affected their ambitions and their moral values. Then they went totally loopy and started killing people and trying to take over.

Manwë did not like the thought of having to deal with an evil Mandos. It would not be fun, and it would not be easy.

He called for Eönwë. Eönwë came.

"You asked for me, my lord?"

Manwë nodded. "Yes, I did ask for you, Eönwë. I will need your help very soon."

"I would be delighted to assist you in any of your endeavors," the Maia said.

"Thank you," Manwë said. "You may have heard about some undesirable goings-on in Middle-earth."

Eönwë nodded.

"Morgoth has managed to escape the Void, and is causing mischief," Manwë said. "Mandos has gotten his hands on Sauron's Ring of power, and seems intent on using it for ill. We will not be able to stop the evil plans of anyone until we sort out another small problem."

"What problem is that, my lord?"

"Someone is rewriting history to suit Morgoth's evil purpose. Mandos has told me, indirectly, that a girl named Luthy is responsible for the mess," Manwë said. "We must stop her first, and then deal with the real Enemy. Both of them."

"All right," Eönwë said. "That sounds reasonable."

"Lórien will lead us to Luthy," Manwë said. "After we take care of her, we'll go to Middle-earth and incapacitate Morgoth once and for all. And we'll see what's going on with Mandos. It could be messy."

"Messy is never a problem, my lord," Eönwë said.

* * *

Luthy sat at her computer, typing busily.

At that moment, she was unaware of how all things end, but she was doomed to discover this shortly. She hummed to herself, feeling happy and fulfilled, little realizing that her beloved computer would soon be no longer with her.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Someone is knocking on the door," Luthy told Morgoth.

_**DON'T ANSWER IT.**_

"Why not?"

_**Bad things will happen. **_

"How can you be so sure?"

The door opened, and someone came in.

"The door opened," Luthy said quietly, leaning close to the screen, "and someone came in."

_**It's Manwë! Hurry! Smite him with something! SMITE HIM NOW!**_

"How?" Luthy said, her voice a mere squeak of panic. She wracked her mind for a good thing with which to smite a Vala, and typed, as quickly as possible: _Manwë lost all his Vala powers._

She could hear footsteps in her kitchen.

**_Not good enough_** Morgoth said. **_DO SOMETHING BETTER. _**

_**And you don't have time for little accent marks. **_

Luthy huddled over her keyboard, typing: _Manwe didn't even have enough energy to stand up._

_**That's weird, but it'll do. Ask him what he wants. **_

"Manwë?" Luthy asked.

"Yes?"

"What do you, um, want?"

"Well, I'd like to be able to get off the floor."

_**Don't listen to him!**_

"He sounds nice," Luthy said. She typed: _Manwe walked into the room and sat down. _

Manwë did so. He wore jeans and red t-shirt, and his dyed-blond hair was hardly spiky at all.He looked as nice –if not more nice– than he had sounded, perfectly innocent and affable. He smiled up at Luthy and said, "This is a great improvement."

Luthy could not help but smile back.

Judging by the number of pop-ups that had begun to carpet her screen, Morgoth was going berserk.

"I came here to contact you," Manwë said, "because you have been interfering with the history of Middle-earth."

"Have I?"

"I believe so. Morgoth wasn't supposed to escape the Void and take over Middle-earth a second time," Manwë said. "You gave him the power to do that, did you not?"

"I suppose."

"Knowing Morgoth, he's probably not that grateful, is he?"

"Not really," Luthy said. "He yells at me a lot."

Manwë looked appropriately sympathetic and understanding.

"When I type things in my computer," Luthy said, "they happen."

"Is that always so?"

Luthy thought. "Well, no, actually. What I type only affects fictional people."

"Fictional people like myself?" Manwë suppressed a grin.

She nodded.

"Have you considered that Middle-earth might possibly be better off when Morgoth isn't in charge of it?" Manwë asked.

"I _like _Morgoth," Luthy said. "He's very motivated. He likes to get things done."

"He's very evil," Manwë said.

Luthy faltered, but briefly. Then she said, "Morgoth and I destroyed Sauron. We built an army to reconquer the so-called Free Peoples of Middle-earth. I'm having so much fun."

"So you won't stop?" Manwë asked.

He looked sad, and Luthy did not really want to make him sad. He was too likable to be sad. She glanced at her monitor to see what Morgoth thought of the whole business.

_**KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM**_

"Morgoth wants me to kill you," she said.

"Valar can't die."

_**Make it so that he never existed! Then all power will be mine!**_

"Morgoth says I can obliterate you," Luthy said, "so that you will never have existed."

"Do you really want to do that, or are you just letting Morgoth order you around?" Manwë asked. "You don't have to do everything he says."

_**Obliterate him, PLEASE. **_

Luthy, caught between two powerful and persuasive individuals, looked from one to the other with big eyes.

"I think she's made her choice, my lord," said a new voice, and suddenly Luthy felt the sharp tip of a sword at her throat. Turning slightly, she caught sight of a tall, silver-haired individual staring at her with steely eyes.

"I suppose," Manwë said. He sighed.

_**It's Eönwë! KILL HIM!**_

"Eönwë, would you please stop threatening Luthy with a sword?" Manwë said. "I think you've made your point."

"I think so too," Eönwë said. He lowered his weapon. "Luthy," he said, "would you please undo the various limitations you have placed on my lord?"

"Certainly," Luthy said, and quickly complied.

Manwë stood up.

"Now can we smash her computer?" Eönwë asked.

"Let's not smash it just yet," Manwë said. "This is our chance to save Middle-earth. Luthy can fix everything, and we can smash the computer afterwards."

"Please, my lord, reconsider," Eönwë said. "You want to leave the saving of Middle-earth to _her_? She caused the mess! She doesn't deserve to type a few magic words and save the day! _We _should do that."

Manwë reconsidered. "All right," he said. "Smash away."

* * *

Lúthien cornered Sauron the second he entered the utility closet.

"Sauron," she asked, "what is Mandos doing?"

"How on earth should I know?" Sauron said. "He wouldn't tell me. He is one of the Lords of the Valar, after all, while I am but a humble Maia."

"You are _anything _but a humble Maia," Lúthien said. "To make matters more suspicious, you and Mandos had a lengthy chat in the hallway. I would like to know what the two of you are planning." She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

"I'm sure you would love to know," Sauron said, "but you must learn that you cannot always get everything you want."

Far from acting offended, Lúthien smiled faintly. "Oh?" she said.

"And Mandos and I weren't planning anything," Sauron added, belatedly.

"Oh?" Lúthien said again. She smiled more broadly. "What does he want you to do for him?" she asked. "He must want something."

"I don't know what Mandos wants."

"I don't think he wants anything that will be good for us lesser creatures," Lúthien said. "It seems that Valar usually don't."

It was Sauron's turn to smile. "True," he said.

"I suspect that Mandos does not want to destroy the Ring," Lúthien said. "Why is that?"

"It is a very powerful Ring," Sauron said. "There is no one in existence who does not want a little more power. What," he asked suddenly, "would you do if you had my Ring?"

"I don't know," Lúthien said. "I'll think about it." She leaned elegantly against the wall, looking slantwise at the Maia. "What would you do if you happened to get your hands on the Ring again?"

"I would fulfill a lifelong dream," Sauron said, "and provide tyranny and injustice for all."

"In that case," Lúthien said, "I will do my very utmost to prevent you from coming in contact with it."

**TBC...**


End file.
